Mercy is for the weak
by Cybrind
Summary: "I am his weapon." Journey with a Death Knight as he awakens. Prequel to The King's Calling. Rated M for dark content and naughty bits. Warning for those with weak dispositions - implied slash *gasp*
1. Chapter 1

**He's alive. **

So many things crash together assaulting his senses. His mind attempts to make sense of them all. His body slowly awakens. Everything hurts. His eyes struggle open. He lies still allowing his vision to adjust and focus in the dim light. The stone ground is cold, hard and unyielding beneath him. The lighting is dim and flickering with occasional flashes of yellow and blue which cause different sensations within him, ones of anguish and pain that are not his own. With each flash the smell of putrid flesh grows stronger. With each flash of light another awakens. Some are strong and alert while others are lacking. He can hear their cries. Gritting his teeth he growls deeply resisting the urge to lash out at them for being weak.

His eyes narrow. His surroundings slowly come in to focus. He's lying on his side. His eyelids feel heavy as do his limbs. He's lying amongst other bodies. He's stripped bare. He has nothing. They too are stripped bare, same as he is. No clothing, no emotions, no name, no shame.

Voices are speaking nearby. One is commanding, others obeying. He strains to hear. He strains to understand. He whispers to him. He beckons. He must not show his pain. He must learn to suppress any weakness. He must obey or be destroyed. He is the master, the maker. He is his, mind and body. Who he is or was doesn't matter. All that matters is him, his calling, his will. He is his tool, his weapon, his warrior. They dance to his song. These ideas, these thoughts, this knowledge flits through his mind as others awaken around him.

Exhausted, he inhales deeply filling his lungs with the cold brisk air. The aromas assault his senses with rotting flesh, soil, and mold. Water is thrown over his body and those around him again and again. The cold embraces him. The flesh on his body reacts immediately as his senses awaken becoming more alert with each passing moment. He takes stock of things, flexing his muscles, swallowing, opening and closing his mouth. Slowly he tries moving his limbs, testing them. They move slowly yet gracefully with unknown strength lying dormant within him. He raises his upper body slowly to a sitting position. His hands are firmly flat on the stone ground supporting him. He feels woozy from the movement. How long has it been since he used his muscles last? How long has he been dormant? How long has he been dead? Long white hair hangs loose, wet and limp around his face and shoulders.

"This one." Harsh tones reverberate around him originating from somewhere to his right. His voice is not the one which beckons. It is the commanding voice he heard earlier. That same flash of light fills the surrounding area as a body stirs beside him.

He lifts his eyes to watch her. Her body lies unnaturally. Her pale blue skin is tinged gray like the stone she lies upon. Her arm is twisted behind her. Her legs are sprawled in opposed directions. She rolls over on her back straightening her body curling her tail beside her. Her matted black locks fan out beneath her. Her eyebrow twitches once and is still. She gasps sitting up. Her chest rises and falls with each lungful of air she takes. Her hand suddenly darts out and grabs hold of his hair pulling him to her as she growls and bares her teeth. Her hot breath fans his skin. The stench is repulsive and foul. Her fist tightens around his hair pulling his head back further. "Dark energy courses through me…" Her voice is gravely, lilting, accented and reverberating. "Such power! I hunger for more!" Her lip curls in to a knowing sneer. A growl escapes him. She releases his hair growling back. She lifts her eyes to the man who commands, kneeling before him.

Instructor Razuvious nods approvingly at the naked woman. "Amidst the wretch, a champion has been found. Place upon it the trappings befitting a herald of Arthas."

Immediately by his side is another. His voice is also strong and sure yet with no reverberation. "Right away, Instructor."

The necromancer motions for the woman to follow. She immediately finds her footing and stands. Pausing for a moment looking at her body, she tests her hands and arms. Red angry welts of hastily healing gashes mar her torso. A small cold calculating smile graces her features. She turns on her hoof and follows the necromancer from the room.

"This one is awake." Instructor Razuvious points at him. He looks up at him in confusion. "Come present yourself."

He pauses at his command. He must obey. He must not hesitate. He moves immediately, pulling his long legs beneath him. Crouching he pivots to face him. He pauses only long enough to gain the ground beneath him before standing. His legs threaten to give out. He wills them to stay strong and support him. They do his bidding and he stands slowly. Long awkward muscular legs stand straight, leading to his narrow hips which shift stiffly as he moves his weight from one foot to the other. Testing, always testing and pushing his limits. His waist and midriff elongates as he rises. His stomach is flat and tone. Raising his right hand he flips his hair from his view. He stands at last of his own accord. He takes a calming breath and looks at the one who commands him.

Instructor Razuvious watches shrewdly. Carefully he places one foot before the other, each muscle screaming for him to stop. He grits his teeth to keep from screaming, swallowing the pain using it to make him stronger. Stepping towards the instructor he carefully makes his way over the other bodies. He stands tall, his head held high as his eyes take him in. Razuvious is taller than he is. He is forced to look up to gaze in his eyes. Razuvious' short cropped white hair is immaculately in place. His armor shines in the dim light. Their eyes clash, icy blue runic eyes challenging him, daring him to look away. He will not back down. He does not lower his gaze. "He will do."

Relief washes over him. He falls to his knees, kneeling before him exhausted from the effort. His chest is heaving as he sucks in lungful after lungful of tainted air. A humorless smirk tugs at the corner of Razuvious' mouth. "For now…"

He looks at him through his hair. It has fallen once more over his face and shoulders. Silently he vows Razuvious will find him worthy. They all will. Razuvious' attention is drawn to others, dismissing him without a word. He looks to where the other was taken.

He looks around at the form stirring beside him. Slowly another raises her head, shaking it to clear her thoughts. She groans running fingers through her pink hair. He tilts his head looking at her familiar form, the long ears, the purple tinted skin, the muscular arms, firm breasts and tight stomach tapering to a small waist. He looks at my own body and notes the same coloring yet they are different. "You." She looks up sharply, her eyes narrowing. Her eyes take in the sight of the man who calls to her. She rises wordlessly, stepping forward with her chest out, her shoulders back looking up to see the man speaking to her. Her hands instinctively ball in to fists. An amused grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. "She will do…"

Once more his attention falls to those around him. Some are long, some short. Some muscular, some merely bones with flesh and skin still attached. A few have hooves, horns and tails, others have tusks or claws. They have different shades of pink, purple, green and brown skin and fur. Their forms are familiar. Their races are familiar. Yet he doesn't know why. They are brothers. They are sisters. They are one. He feels them. He knows them. They vary in sizes, shapes and gender. They all answer the call. His call.

There are _others_. They are mewling in pain and fear. There is no point in those presenting themselves. They show their weakness while crying out for mercy. Mercy is for the weak. He watches as a pink skinned bald male gasps and cries from the pain. "I hurt… suffering unbearable… end my pain… I beg of you!"

"Another failure..." Instructor Razuvious looks down at him with contempt. "You have been measured and found wanting…" He turns to the necromancer beside him with a sneer of disgust. "Dispose of it."

"Yes, Instructor." He watches in fascination as the necromancer raises his hand commanding the undead and summoning the scourge to his will. "Rise, minions. Rise and feast upon the weak!"

From the stone emerge the necromancer's minions. Each one hungers. Each one is a mindless ghoul. Three in total surround him. Snarling they attack, ripping at his flesh, biting, gnawing and feasting. The butchery is fast and efficient leaving bones and blood with bits of flesh in their wake. He can feel the hunger of the minions. He can feel the pain of the one who was torn apart. He closes his eyes taking it in, licking his lips as blood lingers in the air.

Instructor Razuvious has turned towards another giving instruction during the carnage. As the ground opens once more, the minions obediently descend and await the call of their master. Razuvious glances in their direction watching their reaction with satisfaction. "Take them, prepare them."

"Yes." He lifts his eyes to see who speaks. She's much shorter than the Instructor. She's much shorter than he is. She is a broad woman in a red robe that covers her completely. Her hands folded before her are covered by the sleeves. Her head that is bowed is hidden in the shadows within the hood. Her voice is husky, harsh, and gruff.

She turns to face their small group and without a word walks towards the exit. They understand her meaning and immediately fall in to line to follow her. Flashes of light, sounds of screams and the stench of putrid flesh are left behind them. Slowly, unsteadily they are herded onward.

He watches his feet with fascination as they proceed. They move so effortlessly as if he has been walking for years. Perhaps he has been. How many years, he will never know. He can't seem to remember anything that may or may not have happened before awakening today. _Prepare them._ Those two words echo in his mind. With every step his legs are stronger. Every step he takes is more confident. He feels stronger in mind and body. _Prepare them_… A small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. Prepare them for him. He has a use for them. Each in the group is eager. They hunger. The anticipation is palatable.

An opening in the wall looms before them. They draw nearer to the darkness. It is their current destination. The robed figure walks silently beside them. Two rows of three silent figures walk together. The only sound they make is the muted slap of bare feet against the stone floor. The dank room is darker than the one they awoke in. Along the stone walls of the curved room are torches. Within the room are buckets and troughs of water, soaps and combs. Collectively they move forward eager to be rid of the dirt and grime upon their bodies. He pauses at the entrance. The robed one watches him expectantly. He meets her hooded gaze. She does not move or react. She does not acknowledge him further. She simply walks away.

Left to wash, he joins the others. His eyes scan the room with anticipation and eagerness. Soap, water, brushes, cloth, short stools everything they require to cleanse their bodies. He has simple needs, cleanliness, sustenance, vengeance, power. The water is refreshing against his cold skin. Taking the brush in hand, he scrubs his skin clean of the mud.

The small woman beside him lets out a sigh of high-pitched contentedness. She drops her brush on the stone floor before pouring water over herself shaking her head causing her bright pink hair to flap around. A smirk plays on his lips. Simple needs. Simple joys.

The stool is low to the ground making it easier to scrub his feet. There is an odd comfort to this repetitive scrubbing. The soap bubbles turn a peculiar greenish brown. His skin returns to its color. His head tilts, eyebrows furrow. Is this his original skin color? He rinses his body and stares at the skin on his legs and arms. He runs his hand across his torso noting the large angry scars. It doesn't matter what color it was. The thought is tossed aside.

He feels suddenly uneasy. His eyebrows furrow as his eyes search for the area. A woman is staring at him. He glares back sneering. She scoffs and lowers her gaze. The grip on his scrub-brush tightens. Weak. She thinks he's weak. A smirk graces his face yet it dies quickly.

"She watches you." The gravely reverberating voice is deep, hollow yet oddly lilting.

His eyes flicker across his face to his shoulders and chest. His head tilts as he takes in his form that is so different than his own. He is male to be sure yet missing parts of his torso, arms and legs leaving bones bare. He tries to speak, yet his voice fails. He reaches out and touches his face. His fingers slip along his jaw. "Where-" His hand flies from his jaw to his own lips. His voice is much like theirs, deep, reverberating and strong. He's filled with more questions.

The man chuckles and takes his hand placing it back on his face. He urges him to touch the thin wisp of his jaw line, and the pearly white skin stretching across his skull. His laugh is deep and throaty. He finds it peculiar yet pleasing. He is mostly bones and skin. He must be strong or he would have been destroyed immediately. "I am Forsaken."

He nods slowly as if he understands. The man isn't fooled. The question is plainly in his eyes. He chuckles again. He enjoys the sound of his voice. "I am… not."

He releases his hand and shakes his head slowly. "No, you are not." His thumb caresses the man's cheek. His finger tips slip along his jaw before he drops his hand. The Forsaken picks up a comb from the ground and hands it to him. "You are Kal'dorei."

He takes the comb and nods. Slowly he works the comb through his long white hair mulling this new word over in his mind. Kal'dorei. He is Kal'dorei? No. "I am not." He looks at the Forsaken and shakes his head. "I am his weapon."

He grins then and nods. "We are his champions."

"Come." The hooded woman returns for them. Without question, without discussion, they go to her.

She leads them out of the bathing chamber and to the adjoining area. Just like the last alcove this one is open to viewing. Armor fills the alcove from wall to wall, from ceiling to floor, capes, bracers, gloves, pauldrons, chest plates, leggings, boots, and helms of various sizes to accommodate each of them. Without a word they walk amongst the armor finding something to fit. His fingers glide along the soft fabric of a cape. He moves on. A man stands beside him. This one is much broader in the chest yet shorter than he is, much like the hooded woman. He can see his eagerness to wear the armor awarded to them. He pulls from the wall a chest plate and holds it to himself. The Kal'dorei shakes his head and grabs another. He stares at it wordlessly. He puts the other back and takes the offered one looking at it blankly yet understanding fully.

His bright green skin dulled in the dim light contrasts the Kal'dorei's as his fingers linger across his shoulders when he brushes past him. His excitement is added to theirs. Each of them wordlessly pulls gear for either themselves or for others. Not one is satisfied without the other knowing, each finding precisely what is necessary. The woman much like him hands him boots. He takes them without hesitation or question slipping his foot in knowing it will be a perfect fit.

Collectively they are one. They are dressed in armor befitting the perfect warrior. They stand before the one who commanded them as he looks them over one at a time. None flinch, none worry. Together they stand tall assured they are properly outfitted. His voice fills their heads, fills the room and they listen carefully. "The single most important piece of equipment to a death knight is the runeblade. It is through the runeblade that a death knight commands the powers of frost, blood and the unholy. The runeblade also acts as a vessel to store the death knight's runic power.

"The time has come to create your first runeblade. Search the weapon racks on this floor and locate a battle-worn sword. Once found, take the sword to a nearby runeforge and use it to create a runeblade."

The group forms before rows of swords. Large unyielding dull swords displayed before them. Each one walks silently through the rows of swords staring before them waiting for their sword to speak or sing to them. One by one they reach for their sword. One by one they are united with their future. His eyes scan across the dwindling swords when suddenly one shines more so than the rest. It calls to him. His hand instinctively reaches for it brushing against another. They stare at each other in our confusion. How does one sword sing to two? Again it is the woman much like him. His eyes narrow, his hand firmly wraps around the hilt of the sword. Her blue eyes widen and flare with sudden anger. All heads turn towards them expectantly.

His lip instantly curls, challenging her for the sword. She refuses to back down. Foolishly she reaches for it. A guttural growl rips from the cold center of his being. Lifting the sword he holds it ready to slay the fool who tries to take it from him. She is his sister, she is one of them. She will fall to his blade if she is weak. The realization is in her eyes, she knows. She must for he has set the challenge before her.

His voice whispers to him. "Kill…"

He bends his knees bracing his stance, baring his teeth to her. He knows she hears Him. How can she not hear His song? Foolish woman grabs a sword and faces him. She will be his sister no longer. One of them will fall. He speaks to him again. "Show no mercy."

His eyes watch her every movement, he anticipates her approach. She moves to her right. He brings his sword down upon her slicing at her. The tip of his blade delicately slides across her midriff below her chest plate. Her blood drips from his blade. The blade rejoices as he lifts it in preparation holding it parallel to the ground.

She clenches her teeth against the pain. He can feel it within her. She glares at him and she lunges with a loud growl. Side stepping her he brings his sword across her back. She lets out a cry of frustration. Silently he moves back to his stance waiting, watching, anticipating. At long last she settles her anger and mimics his stance.

Their swords clash again and again, the clanging metal upon metal rings throughout the room. The sound thrills him. He can smell her blood in the air. He can taste it. His tongue licks at his lips hungrily. His blade sings to him urging him on, begging for more of her blood. Parry to the left, she moves to his right. She thrusts her sword at him, slicing the skin on his right side.

The warmth of his blood is sticky at his side. He refuses to allow it to slow his movements. Her own movements are slowed with the loss of her own. The dance of death lingers between them until at last he sees her weakening. From some where deep within him, he hears his body. He feels its response. He lures her in. Not understanding, nor questioning he reaches his hand out towards her and from his finger tips comes forth the icy touch of his champion. She howls and staggers. The disease quickly washes over her seeking her blood, entering her body and ravaging her.

His blade sings as he swings it around fully. The weight of his body and momentum is too great for her. She opens her mouth to cry out her anguish. The sound is lost as her throat is cut. Her body slumps to the ground before him. The clatter of the sword falling from her grip is the only sound made in the room. He looks at her. Her vacant eyes stare back. He grips his sword and silently follows the others to the runeforge.

They take their time to care for their swords. The methodical movement of sharpening his blade is soothing. He finds the motion comforting. They learn how to prepare their sword for the runeforge. Soon they will be taught how to set runes upon their weapons. His mind tumbles over the two different types they will currently learn. With each stroke of the whetstone he deliberates over his choices; Cinderglacier and Razorice.

"What troubles you?" His lilting voice carries across the sound of the scraping whetstones.

"Nothing." He lifts his blade, sliding it across his forearm peering at it, searching for imperfections. He glances at him over the blade. "I'm… thinking."

"Thinking?" The Forsaken chuckles. A shiver involuntarily runs through his body. It does not go unnoticed. He squats beside him, placing his own weapon across his thighs. His fingers slip affectionately along the blade as he speaks. "Affixing runes upon your weapon alters it. Increasing your damage, increasing your attack, causing vulnerabilities and dealing Frost damage… this is good to think on."

The Kal'dorei finds it hard to ignore him when he speaks. His words speak to his soul. He gazes into his soulless eyes. "Which do you choose?"

"Razorice." He grins as he scoff. "Why trust in chance? Cinderglacier's damage is greater than Razorice. I'm sure you've thought this through yet listen to what I say. Razorice is constant rendering your foe vulnerable. Cinderglacier-"

"Has a chance of inflicting much greater pain than Razorice and while I appreciate your wisdom…" He sighs as he snapped at him. He had no intention of being so flippant. "I appreciate your words. I hear them. It is my path to take. It is my choice to make."

The Forsaken nods at him. His gesture is obviously stiff and forced. Yet he feels no remorse for standing up to him and taking this choice back to himself. To allow his words to sway his decision is a sign of weakness. He is many things. Weak is not one of them.

* * *

><p>Night has come. The cold lingers. The dim lighting remains with an illusory calm. It is time for mending. Many of his champions are grouped together throughout the area. Some rest. Others speak. Some seek pleasure, comfort and release.<p>

His mind is allowed to wander with no demands set on him. Sitting on the bare stones of the floor, he extends his legs before him, leaning back on his hands. The Forsaken lies beside him propped on an elbow watching as others rid themselves of their garments in order to lie together. He lays back, his hands behind his head and a small grin playing on his thin lips.

"You seem to know more than I do. I find that annoying." The Kal'dorei pulls him out of his private thoughts. The Forsaken stares up at him. He chuckles remaining silent much to the Kal'dorei's frustration so he continues. "I see things that I should know."

"Memories." The Forsaken speaks at last. He is staring at the ceiling again.

He sits up at the mention of memories. A simple word yet it carries much significance. He nods slowly as the word rolls over my mind again and again. Memories… "Do you have… memories?"

"Some. Flashes of things I know to be true. Other things… I just know." He glances over at him. "What is it you want to know?"

He hesitates not wanting to admit his lack of knowledge. "You say you are…"

"Forsaken." He prompts.

Forsaken, Undead, once Human… he nods as this clicks in to place. "And you say that I am…"

"Kal'dorei." He finishes his sentence. Oddly it doesn't bother him when he does this.

Kal'dorei, Elf… Night Elf. He looks at others around them. His voice lowers with shame. "I know the shapes of these others yet…" He growls out of frustrations. "I cannot name them. It is as if I know, yet it is just beyond my grasp."

The Forsaken lifts his torso once again propping up on an elbow bringing him closer so he can hear his low soothing voice. He points out others. "Orc, Troll, Human, Dwarf, Orc, Gnome, Draenei, Tauren…" His voice drifts off.

The Kal'dorei looks at the one not named and glances at him. He has an odd look on his face. The Forsaken looks… confused. "Human?"

The Forsaken shakes his head slowly. "No. Humans don't suddenly change to an animal as that one has, with fur and claws…" His voice is different, strained. He nods towards the one he left off with. "That is a Worgen."

Worgen. His eyes are on those that have come before. They are strong. The two fall quiet again. Still voices and noises surround them; low and hypnotic sounds with an occasional outburst.

Just this morning he was in eternal sleep. Now he will never sleep like that again. The Kal'dorei lies beside the man with the soothing voice.

"Do you have a name?" The Forsaken's voice whispers.

His eyebrows furrow and he stares blankly. "I… I don't know."

He nods silently. "I am… or once was… Reynolds."

He closes his eyes. Reynolds. It seems rather fitting. "Reynolds…"

Reynolds grunts and lays back, his arms crossed over his chest once again staring at the ceiling above.

The day's events play over for the Kal'dorei. He evaluates his actions, reactions and words. He shivers as a realization comes to him. The woman who wanted his sword. His eyes tighten seeing her face again. He remembers standing before the dead body. He looked to where her head fell over. The gap in her neck caused it to lie at an odd unnatural angle. Her dead eyes stared sightlessly at him. He knew her.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Memory**

His tongue slips along his lips wetting them. He stretches slowly as the sun begins its ascent. Reynolds' arm is slung casually over his waist. His mind continues to reel with images, flashes of faces, of times, of places… past, present. He groans.

"Memories again?" Reynolds stirs. His voice is strong and hushed, speaking for his ears alone.

He nods silently. Reynolds' arm tightens lending his understanding. This simple act soothes him immediately. He is constantly seeking warmth yet can never seem to find enough of it. Undead are cold. He will always be so. "Reynolds…"

"Hmm…"

"That woman…" His eyes slowly drift open. "The one I killed our first day. I believe I knew her in life."

Reynolds stiffens and lifts his head propping it on his elbow. His voice is guarded. "And?"

"She was weak. I did her a service by ending her." He knows what Reynolds is listening for. That he has regret or remorse for her death by his hands, yet he will find none.

If it is at all possible, he would swear he could hear Reynolds smile behind him. "As it should be."

"Our days are filled with training and tasks to fill every moment." He takes a deep breath containing his annoyance. "I hate nights. It is at night that my mind is free to wander at will."

Reynolds' hand slips to his hip. His eyes narrow. "I have ways to occupy your mind, Kal'dorei." He smirks knowingly. Reynolds' hand travels back to his waist holding him tighter. His voice lowers. "Tonight I will claim you."

His laugh is throaty and deep. He looks over his shoulder and into Reynolds' runic eyes. "And I am to simply allow this?"

"Of course not, I will have no weak man. As I said, I will claim you. Will you fight me?" Reynolds searches his profile as if seeking answers.

"Naturally." He rolls over on his back looking up at him. His grin lights his runic eyes with amusement. Every morning since their awakening Reynolds has been at his side. "When you lose, and you will lose, I will kill you. Truly is this what you wish?" He cups his face, his fingers slip with familiarity over his jaw. Enjoying the feel of his pearl white skin so thin in places it is sheer to the bone. "Your weakness for me is apparent. Your death is most certain. I will show little mercy. It will be quick. You will not suffer."

Reynolds' laugh comes as a bark, his head thrown back as it comes from his soulless center. "My death… now that would be something."

His eyes watch Reynolds' throat as he laughs. "Do not under estimate me, Forsaken. The last to do so was food for the mindless ghouls." He runs his finger over Reynolds' thin lips. "It is early yet. Others are still sleeping."

Reynolds' hand slips across the Kal'dorei's scarred torso. A smile tugs at his lips. "Not all sleep."

"No… not all. And their actions stir me." The Kal'dorei closes his eyes stifling a moan.

"Feeling your body awaken, it is a sign of life. For even the undead have desires." Reynolds' breathing is heavy and ragged. He flattens his palm on his flat belly. Reynolds' slips his bony hand down his hip to his leg grasping his inner thigh.

Instinctively his body stiffens. The Kal'dorei's voice reverberates and rumbles in his chest. "Is that what we desire? To awaken?"

"Perhaps. What is it you desire, Kal'dorei?" Reynolds' hand slips higher along his thigh his nails raking at his blue skin leaving angry red welts yet not drawing blood.

"My desire is to feel, Reynolds." He takes Reynolds' hand in his stopping his progress denying them both. He sighs heavily. "Yet it is not your touch or any other that I seek."

Reynolds grins unconvinced. "You say this as if it were truth. Mark my words, you are mine."

He releases Reynolds hand. Reynolds runs a bony finger along his lips before turning to another to sate his desires. Reynolds takes pleasure from a woman. The Kal'dorei silently watches the rhythmic motion of Reynolds' narrow hips, the writhing and mewling of the woman beneath him and the unadulterated lust in their eyes.

Th Kal'dorei hasn't taken any pleasure with anyone since his awakening. He finds it a weakness. One he must purge from himself. He stands to go pausing when he hears Reynolds growl. He looks down at his pearl skin glowing in the dim light. His movements have sped, blue legs wrap around him. Her hands are gripping his shoulders with both of them gasping for breath. He turns to leave and is met by one of the hooded necromancers.

His large hands lift her hood revealing her nearly bald head with a long single thick black braid wrapped from the back of her head over her shoulder. She stands before him silently. She looks up at him with her soft amber eyes. He brushes his fingers along her leathery green skin along her sturdy jaw knowing he could easily just take her life. She closes her eyes, leaning her head into his hand. The power over her life is heady.

She steps in to his arms ignoring his erection pressed between them. He holds her. Silently they stand there. All around them are the rumblings of low talking. She is careful of her tusks when she leans her head against his chest listening for that telltale heartbeat of the reanimated. He holds her tighter hearing Reynolds' pleased moans. As the sun rises, the day brightens. She pulls away setting her hood back over her before slipping away.

* * *

><p>As they enter the Heart of Acherus they are met with the rare appearance of the Lich King. Humbled at his presence they drop to a knee before him. He silently beckons them to follow as he strides purposefully forward. His voice rings out, echoing in their minds and souls. "All that I am: anger, cruelty, vengeance - I bestow upon you, my chosen knights. I have granted you immortality so that you may herald in a new, dark age for the Scourge.<p>

"Gaze now upon the lands below us. The Scarlet Crusade scurries to undo my work, while Light's Hope stands defiantly against us - a blemish upon these Plaguelands. They must all be shown the price of their defiance.

"You will become my force of retribution. Where you tread, doom will follow. Go now and claim your destiny."

Their training continues. Fully armored in plate gear, they swing effortlessly at the practice dummies. Tedious repetition yet new skills are learned, older skills are honed until they are second nature and ingrained in their fighting. With the Lich King's words resonating through them, their strikes become more bold and assured. The instructor can feel their impatience and hunger.

His voice sears in his mind calling to him. His sword stops mid-strike. The Kal'dorei looks up at Instructor Razuvious. Razuvious ignores him continuing with the others. He sheaths his sword and moves with purpose. Razuvious' voice rings out behind him as he takes his leave. "You have practiced your skills upon the flesh of the weak. Note the disease as it courses through their blood spilled before you. The time comes. There are humans below, the Scarlet Crusade. We shall take their lives, spread the work of our master with their deaths and end them."

The Kal'dorei enters almost hesitantly. The Lich King called for him yet now in his presence his steps falter. He stands so much taller, broader than any other in Acherus. He has his back to him looking out over the balcony at the land below. He takes a calming breath and before he can speak the Lich King holds out his hand toward his side, in his grasp is a parchment. His booming voice fills the balcony ringing within him. "Bow to your master."

Immediately he drops to one knee keeping his head down respectfully. "Listen well, death knight, for I give to you the words that will start a war. My final judgment has been passed: Death. To. All. None shall stand so boldly against the might of the Scourge without reprisal!

"As you have served me well in your first task, so too shall you serve me in your next task. Take my judgment to Highlord Mograine at the command post of Acherus, found on the first floor. Tell him to begin the assault.

"And when the Crusade has been dealt with, we will finish off the Argent Dawn."

Upon hearing his words, his chest swells with pride. He has done well in the eyes of the master. A ruthless grin graces his features as he accepts the scroll. Lifting his chin, standing as tall as possible his voice is still softer than the Lich King's and barely fills the air between them. "Yes, master."

The parchment that was small within the Lich King's grasp is large within his own. The Kal'dorei turns quickly on his heel and heads to the glowing transporter. He steps forward feeling the familiar pull in his center of his being as he's pulled forcibly to the first floor. Even the discomfort of the transporter gives him cause to grin. Everything: pain, discomfort, desire, and fulfillment, makes him more aware of his purpose. The Kal'dorei will not squander this chance to be his champion. He exists due to his will and he will do his duty.

As he was told, Highlord Mograine is indeed in the command post. Mograine ignores him at first while shouting out orders. The Kal'dorei thrust the scroll with the Lich King's seal towards Mograine causing him to pause mid-sentence. Mograine's eyes narrow briefly until they fall upon the seal. Immediately Mograine takes the scroll and reads it, a smile of anticipation playing on his lips. "His will be done."

Mograine gives the signal, the horn is blown and the command post springs to life. "Scourge Commander Thalanor awaits your arrival at the overhang located directly southeast of our current position. Report to Thalanor and requisition a Scourge gryphon to deliver you to Death's Breach."

Mograine quickly prepares a note placing his own seal and hands it to him. "Prince Valanar will be waiting for you down below."

The Kal'dorei nods his head in understanding and quickly turns on his heel. Mograine's voice follows him out of the command post. "Suffer well, brother."

His eyes narrow as the man paces back and forth impatiently on his Scourge gryphon. Scourge Commander Thalanor ignores his presence until he clears his throat. Thalanor sneers. "What?"

The Kal'dorei shows the seal of Mograine and Thalanor waves a dismissive hand. "Below Acherus stands Death's Breach, the staging point for our assault upon the Scarlet Crusade. You are to ride one of my Scourge gryphons, located on either side of this platform, and report to Prince Valanar. Do as he says and you may live to see these lands fall before us."

The Kal'dorei eyes the Scourge gryphons noting one is larger than the other, opting for the larger of the two. Slipping his leg over the saddle he still has to pull his long legs up higher than the average man, his knees almost to his chest. His plate boots slip easily into the stirrups just as the Scourge gryphon takes for the sky.

* * *

><p>Prince Valanar stands at Death's Breach amongst the coming and going of death knights, geist and ghouls. More are landing as he arrives. His eyes set on the one he must see. It is obvious who he is to report to by the brief description given. Prince Valanar is tall, white hair, elven like him, wearing a cape with a collar designed to strike fear in the hearts of mortals. The Kal'dorei almost laughs at the sight. The collar gives the impression of fangs. Reining in his amusement, he steps up to Valanar and presents him with Mograine's sealed note.<p>

Prince Valanar waves him off and he joins the others standing before him. Valanar reads the note and chuckles to himself before speaking. "They make their stand now, outside of Death's Breach, futilely attempting to push us back in hopes of saving their horses, mines, lumber and citizens.

"This will be your first lesson in Scourge warfare: TERROR!" He clenches his fist for emphasis crumpling the note within.

"Go to the front lines, south of here, and destroy Scarlet Crusaders. Leave their corpses so that we may utilize them for the death march.

"But most importantly: kill the fleeing villagers. Soldiers dying are an affordance, but villagers?" His eyes dance as he speaks. "That is what strikes fear into the hearts of man."

His hands clench and unclench as he anxiously awaits the word to go. Prince Valanar hesitates for a moment and peers at the group. "You…" Reynolds steps forward peering at him. "Do you ride?"

Reynolds sneers at him. "I can ride whatever you put in front of me."

"Go then. Seek Salanar the Horseman. His last recruits failed him and were destroyed." Valanar waves his hand dismissively. "Go now!"

The Kal'dorei pulls his weapon from his back unsheathing it with anticipation of the kill. The sound of scraping metal is heard throughout the amassed death knights. He turns on his heel stopping short faced by a geist staring up at him. He quirks an eyebrow. "You buy… trade…"

His lip curls into a sneer, his eyes narrow with anger. The geist cowers slinking away on all fours. The Kal'dorei shakes his head and strides forth hearing Salanar speaking with Reynolds as he passes. "Once you acquire a horse from the Havenshire Stables, return it to me and I will see what can be done about transforming it into a proper deathcharger." Salanar rubs his hands together with excited anticipation.

"Remember, Reynolds, it's only stealing if you're caught. Watch out for that deranged stable master, Kitrik!"

Reynolds turns on his heel and walks with him. Reynolds has an odd far away look in his eyes. The Kal'dorei glances at Reynolds questioningly. "What is it?"

Reynolds shakes his bald head keeping his thoughts to himself. As they reach the bottom of the hill he pulls his sword, raises his hood and moves off towards the stable alone.

The Kal'dorei stands, sword in hand watching him walk away. A cruel grin plays on his lips when Reynolds uses his death grip on an escaping villager, ending her life with a deep cut of his blade.

Villagers frantically work at the lumber yard and amongst the trees, chopping and gathering wood. He frowns at the odd sight and approaches one chopping at a tree. The Kal'dorei watches him silently in amusement before casting an icy touch that gets an immediate reaction from him. His head whips around, the villager screams in terror. The Kal'dorei sneers, baring his teeth and brings his sword around for his first kill. The Lich King's voice echoes in his mind. "Strike it down."

The villager tries swinging wildly with his axe in hopes of hitting him some how. He dodges easily, and lands a parry cutting the man deeply across his middle. His blade sings with the villager's blood. Another nearby hears his cries and tries to help running in at his side flanking him. He growls when he sees the second villager in his peripheral vision. As quick as he can he throws a death coil in his direction.

The first villager holds his gut with one hand and swings wide with his other hitting him with a weak dull thud against his plate armor. He ignores the first and follows with an icy touch on the second. Shivering and furious, the second villager sputters and swings his axe slicing at his armor. The Kal'dorei grits his teeth and swings his sword once again in a full arc hitting both men with one blow knocking one in to the other.

The first man falls to his knees coughing up blood. "Please! I-I have a family…"

The Kal'dorei growls and strikes again. His voice calls to him. Instantly he repeats the words of the Lich King. His deep voice reverberates. "Mercy is for the weak."


	3. Chapter 3

**Harvester**

Reynolds leans against a thick tree trunk half hidden in the shadow of its shade. The sun beats down on the valley around him. Silently he watches the corral. He glances behind him as the Kal'dorei approaches.

The Kal'dorei stands in the direct sunlight nearby. He lifts his face to the warmth and sighs contently. "You are the oddest Kal'dorei I have ever met."

"Why is that?"

Reynolds shrugs a shoulder. "Kal'dorei prefer the night to the day, they are the moon worshipers or something like that."

The Kal'dorei snorts. "I'm not like those Kal'dorei… they are living. I'm not." He grins at Reynolds. "So what you know of their habits has nothing to do with how I behave or react."

The two death knights watch the corral. "Blasted Kitrik is watching those last horses as if his life depends on them."

The Kal'dorei laughs. "It does."

Reynolds peers at him from beneath his hood. "Hmph, I suppose it does."

"We've cleared the lumberyard. Only things left are the mine and the corral." The Kal'dorei holds out his palm with a wicked grin. Reynolds walks over and takes up the device turning it slowly in his hand. He gives the Kal'dorei a blank stare. "It is one of the Harvester's creations, a plague spreading device. It is to be tested in the mine. It is said to work on the simple minds and weak wills of the miners. Perhaps Kitrik will volunteer to be my first test subject?"

Reynolds snorts. "The Harvester?" He hands back the odd device. "Kitrik is not weak. Still I'm curious to see this work."

"Just be ready to move." The Kal'dorei adjusts the device, pulls his sword and walks casually towards the corral. Reynolds watches in amusement still waiting in the shade. Kitrik spots the death knight approaching and pulls out his gun shooting at him. The Kal'dorei growls as the bullet whizes past his head grazing his ear. Kitrik grunts in frustration, pulling his horse to a standstill and takes aim. The Kal'dorei tosses the device with a flick of the wrist.

Kitrik eyes the device hesitating for a fraction of a moment. His horse backs away frantically at the stench and visible green fumes it emits. Kitrik fights to control his horse. The horse rears trying to fend off the green fumes ignoring his rider. Failing to regain control of the horse, Kitrick is bucked off and dumped onto the dirt ground with an unceremonious thump.

A maniacal laugh is suddenly beside him as Reynolds moves past him. He hops on to one of the three horses left, grabbing the reins of Kitrik's horse. The Kal'dorei watches Reynolds ride quickly away. His attention is brought back to the prey before him at the sounds of his coughing and cursing.

Kitrik scrambles to his feet pulling his sword growling out his frustrations. "Monster! You will die by my hand."

The Kal'dorei levels his sword and urges him forward. "Come for me then." His voice reverberates coldly. "I am his weapon, his champion. We shall see who parishes this day."

Kitrik charges with his sword held high forgetting about the green fumes as he runs through it in order to get to his prey. The Kal'doreei smirks noting the twitch of Kitrik's lip as he pauses. He coughs and hacks but it doesn't stop him. Fighting to kill the scourged monster before him, he struggles upright and lurches forward once more.

The Kal'dorei does not move. He stands his ground waiting with his own sword held over his head parallel to the ground. His weight is evenly distributed on both legs, with his stance widened and his runic eyes dancing with anticipation. He gives no indication of the other approaching. His gaze is even, his eyes never leaving Kitrik's. It isn't until Kitrik is hit with an icy touch from behind that their eyes break contact.

Kitrik is howling now. He spins around using his momentum to swing his sword at the Kal'dorei. He backs away from them to gain a better position. He snarls with contempt, "I will send you _all_to the Void!"

The Kal'dorei swings with his sword, making contact with Kitrik's sword. The clang of metal on metal is heard throughout the valley as he swings again. The Kal'dorei commands his attention; his swings are flowing and continuous accompanied by growls and taunts. "To the Void you say but cannot follow through. Come now, this monster awaits you."

Kitrik's skin is diseased and bleeding. Still the man fights on. He cries out while leveling his sword and swinging wildly towards the Kal'dorei. "You will _not_take me!"

Reynolds has returned with his sword drawn. "You've already been bested, you fool." He grabs the mane of the last hours and nods to the Kal'dorei. "End him. His use here is done."

The Kal'dorei steps into his swing pushing Kitrik back into the Draenei. Her blades are buried deep causing him to pause. Kitrik gasps. His blade drops from his hand. He stares unseeing at the cruel world that surrounds him. He coughs up blood and drops to his knees.

He looks down at Kitrik with a frown. "Strong willed, but still you fail." The Kal'dorei walks over, picks up the device and switches it off.

"What is that?" The Draenei peers at the contraption in his hand.

The Kal'dorei holds it on his open palm where it balances carefully. "The Harvester's portable plague spreader…" He closes his hand around the base and heads towards the mine. "He is out of souls."

The Draenei tilts her head and looks at the Kal'dorei. "You look familiar." Her soft lilt of an accent is almost lost in the harsh reverberation. She walks along with him towards the mine. The Kal'dorei snarls at her but doesn't speak. She throws back her head and laughs. "You? I thought you'd be destroyed."

The Kal'dorei glares at her. "I have proven myself worthy."

Her tail swishes with amusement. "I am Kreah."

The Kal'dorei gives her a quick nod pausing long enough to dispatch a miner. The pair continues toward the mine as a geist comes running for the corpse. Kreah tilts her head and assesses him. He frowns at her. "What?"

"You have not remembered." She shrugs a shoulder when he doesn't respond and skirts around him once they make it to the mine. She pauses at the entrance allowing her eyes to adjust to the change in light. "These fools are no challenge. They are simple minded."

"That is true, never the less they are to be dealt with." The Kal'dorei adjusts the device once again. "The Harvester will have his souls." Three steps within the mine he flicks his wrist flinging the plague spreader amongst a group of miners. The device springs open and the green mist emits causing coughing, hacking and mayhem. "One way or another…"

The miners fall within minutes of exposure becoming mindless ghouls in their stead. Kreah curls her lip with disgust and motions for them to follow her.

The Kal'dorei plucks up the device and moves further into the mine. Upon finding more miners he repeats the process. Surprisingly one does not die so quickly. The miner falls to the ground and writhes in pain. The Kal'dorei watches with mild interest. The man clutches and claws at his throat and chest as if trying to dig through his body to the plague eating at his insides. His eyes bulge and stare unseeing at the ceiling of the dim tunnel. Gasping and grunting the miner's body convulses and jerks.

The Kal'dorei grips the pommel of his sword in his hand as the body becomes still. The Kal'dorei peers at the body curiously. His neck is swollen and bleeding from the self inflicted scrapes. "Interesting."

Three ghouls hover around him expectantly. "You three wait here for someone to retrieve you."

The Kal'dorei walks over to the device when an eerie cry echoes through the tunnel. He looks back at the dead miner only to face a ghost. The ghost cries out in anguish, its bluish hued body shimmers with rage before descending on him.

The Kal'dorei parries and blocks as the ghost lashes out at him. His motions are automatic and routine. He watches the ghost as it attacks with mindless swatting much like a ghoul. Curiosity has him dodging and not attacking. "You three… attack."

The Kal'dorei raises an eyebrow in surprise when they comply. The recently created ghouls attack the ghost with cries of grunts and unintelligible groans. The ghost continues to swat at the Kal'dorei, the focus of his agony and anger.

"Are there any miners left alive?" A high pitched voice calls out behind him.

The Kal'dorei looks behind him and sees no one. He stops blocking out of confusion. The ghost swats the back of his head eliciting a hiss of annoyance from him. He turns and dispatches the ghost. He takes a few steps forward to retrieve the device when something smacks against his knee. "Hey!"

He looks down by his feet with an eyebrow quirked with amusement. "Possibly further in."

The pink haired, pig tailed, plate wearing Gnome pushes through past the ghouls and finds a mining cart. "Give me a hand, will ya?" Her squeak of a voice reverberates in the tunnel.

"What are you doing?" He lifts her up and sets her inside the mining cart. She pulls the tarp to cover the top. The Kal'dorei fastens it in place.

"You're going to push this cart out where one of the miners can find it. He is going to take me to the ship. I'm going to have some fun with a few cannons!" She cackles from within the mining cart.

"I see," he motions to the ghouls to stay put. He pushes the cart along the tracks to an area ahead where he hasn't yet killed the miners. He frowns. "I don't…" He pauses and tilts his head. "Ah, there are more miners down this way."

He pauses as a thought occurs to him. He lifts the flap, revealing the Gnome within. She tilts her head causing her pigtails to bob. He takes a hunk of the ore and scrapes heavily on the sides. Pleased with the results he tosses the ore back in with her and closes the tarp. He takes a few steps, gives the cart a bit of a push and turns on his heel to head back the way he came. He motions for the ghouls to follow him and he exits the mine.

He walks back up to the Harvester to deliver the three ghouls watching for movement at the opposite end of the mineshaft. The Harvester takes charge of the ghouls immediately and makes his way back down the path.

He waits near the entrance, leaning against the frame. It was another ten minutes before a miner hesitantly exits the other end of the mineshaft. He looks around before heading back in. The Kal'dorei can hear scuffling and voices before two men pulling mine carts come rushing out. He sighs heavily with disappointment as their carts have no mark. He scuffs his plate boot along the dirt waiting impatiently. "Hey, wait!"

The Kal'dorei looks up expectantly as a third man comes rushing after the others. A grin spreads across his face when he notes the scraped sides. Gripping his sword, the Kal'dorei goes back into the mine to finish his task.

* * *

><p>The sun has long set, the moon hung high in the evening sky. The Kal'dorei stood watching the activities he could see below. "Hey!" The squeaking voice breaks through his random thoughts. He looks beside him at the same pink haired Gnome and raises an eyebrow. "That was fun." She hops up on the balcony rail and swings her legs back and forth.<p>

"You made it to the ships I take it?" The Kal'dorei leans against the rail.

"Yup! I'm glad they were ready to be used. Those stupid cannonballs were almost as big as me. Stupid Scarlet Crusade. Sometimes I think they make this too easy for us." She tilts her head causing her pig tails flop. "I know you."

"Meaning?"

"The name's Toots." She wrinkles her nose. "You don't remember?"

The Kal'dorei frowns. "Remember what?"

Toots shrugs and hops off the balcony rail, "your name silly… its Cybrind."

The Kal'dorei stands straight. "Cybrind?" He turns to look for the Gnome but she's no longer on the balcony. He runs his fingers through his long white hair and sighs. "Cybrind."

The Kal'dorei walks slowly towards the resting area and pauses near the entrance. His brows furrow he stares at the stones before him. The name rolls around in his head, foreign to his lips and his mind. He shakes his head trying to make sense of why she would tell him this.

The Kal'dorei hears the distinctive slap of bare feet before they stop beside him. "Something on your mind?"

"Cybrind," the Kal'dorei looks at Reynolds. His eyebrows are still furrowed with confusion. "I…" He shakes his head again. "I'm unsure, but perhaps that is my name."

Reynolds scratches his chin. "Why would you think that, Kal'dorei?"

"A Gnome said she knows me." The Kal'dorei snorts. "Said it is my name, but that doesn't make it true. She could be mistaken."

Reynolds takes him by the hand and leads him into the resting area. "If it doesn't feel right then it isn't. You can use the name or not. It is your choice." Their footfalls slow to a stop as they find an open area.

The Kal'dorei slips his left arm around Reynolds' waist pulling his slender body back against his own. "Just as it is my choice if I use you for my pleasure…" his breath fans against his bare skin, "or not."

Reynolds' usual slouching shoulders suddenly extend to bring him to his full height. He leans back against the Kal'dorei. "And what is it you choose, Kal'dorei?"

The Kal'dorei feels his body responding to their closeness. He knows Reynolds can feel it too. "I have not yet decided." He thrusts his hips against him causing Reynolds to moan. "This can be seen as a weakness. Yet to take what you want can be a show of strength."

"Perhaps." Reynolds presses back against him, his hands snake behind him to the Kal'dorei's hips willing him closer.

The Kal'dorei brings his lips to his neck and ghosts them across his thin pale skin. "Call me Cybrind." Cybrind's hand remains at his waist as his other moves lower taking a firm hold of Reynolds' erection.

Reynolds bucks his hips in surprise. "And if I don't?"

Cybrind laughs. "Then I simply won't continue." He steps away from Reynolds.

Reynolds turns and glares at him. "Always toying with me. Not this time, Kal'dorei." Reynolds snakes his hand behind Cybrind's neck, wrapping his bony fingers through his hair and pulls him closer.

Cybrind lowers his lips towards Reynolds' stopping before they touch. "What is my name, Forsaken?"

Reynolds growls, "Cybrind."

Cybrind chuckles, "you're mine, Reynolds. You will do well to remember that."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chaos**

His hand snakes out capturing his quarry. His eyes slowly open and stares questioningly at the giggling Gnome. He frowns for a moment until the name comes back to him, "Toots."

"You remember?" Toots tilts her head, her pink pig tails flop.

Cybrind releases her hand and yawns. "No, you told me." He moves Reynolds' hand from around his waist and sits up.

Toots peeks past him and nods towards Reynolds. "I kinda figured you didn't remember."

Cybrind glances at Reynolds as he grumbles sleepily and rolls over. "I'm sure you didn't poke my chest in order to speak about my sleeping habits." He looks out a nearby opening noting the beginning of a new day. The room is still dim as the sun is just beginning its ascent. "What did you want?"

"I need you to remember," Toots frowns pulling her legs closer to her. She rests her chin on her knees. "It's important."

"Important…" Cybrind shakes his head. "The past isn't important, what is important is his will and that I know. That I remember."

Toots' frown deepens, "It is important to remember that you're Alliance and he," she spat, "is Horde."

"No." Cybrind growls, "I am his weapon, his champion as are you, as he is. We are brothers, sisters, we _were_ Alliance and Horde but that holds no weight here. Not when his song sings to you, here his will is _all_ that matters."

Toots hops to her feet and sneers at him, "You're stubborn and a fool if you trust him. When the time comes and it will come, he will betray you." Toots stomps off, the slap of bare feet echo in the stillness of the early morning.

Cybrind stares out towards the morning gloom as Reynolds slinks closer. The Forsaken sits behind him wrapping his bony arms around Cybrind's torso. "She is right." He rests his chin on Cybrind's shoulder. "Why do you deny what you know is truth?"

Cybrind glares over his shoulder. "You hear his song. That is what I know." He turns his attention back to the far window, "nothing else matters."

* * *

><p>They gather around Mograine. He looks at them with pride and confidence, "It is the will of the Lich King that drives us onward. None are more aware of this than death knights. Our very existence is intrinsically tied to his consciousness. Surely you have heard him speak to you - invading your thoughts...<p>

"Can you hear him now?" He pauses to look around, some nod others look confused, desperate to hear. "Perhaps it is too early for you."

Mograine's words cease when he closes his eyes. All death knights around him watch with eagerness. Mograine nods, "Yes, my lord. It will be done."

A slow grin spreads over his face. His eyes shine with anticipation, "You are to return to Death's Breach and report to Prince Valanar. The Lich King commands it!"

The group salutes and makes its way towards the Scourge gryphons. Scourge Commander Thalanor watches their progress with a critical eye sending two at a time.

Cybrind looks across the way to see who he has been partnered with and is surprised to see Kreah practically bouncing on her hooves, her tail flicking excitedly. She looks over at him, a grin full of expectations gracing her lovely face. Cybrind laughs and hops on the gryphon racing her to the ground below.

The air is brisk in the early morning sky. His white long hair whips behind him and he lowers his body towards the gryphon. Cybrind pats the side of the gryphon's neck and it dives, circling towards the ground in a tight spiral. His reanimated heart races, blue runic eyes dancing with the promise of blood and battle.

Upon reaching Death's Breach, Cybrind runs a gauntlet covered hand over the beak of the gryphon. Kreah steps closer watching with curiosity and impatience before turning on her hoof to make her way to Prince Valanar. "I don't understand." She peers at him. "We are paired to minimize our weakness, yet we embody perfection. We are his champions."

Cybrind shrugs a shoulder, "and yet even a champion has strengths that others may not possess. You are stronger with frost and I with blood. The two work well together."

Kreah ponders his words for a moment, "I see. It is a tactical decision." She nods her approval and joins the others. Cybrind smirks behind her.

Prince Valanar's voice carries across the breach, "Open your eyes, brothers and sisters! Gaze upon apocalypse! The sky itself feeds upon the suffering of the conquered! The Scarlet Crusade is powerless to stop us! The corpses of those that try only serve to feed our expanding host!"

Valanar stands upon a platform motioning behind to those before him, "The Scarlet fleet lies in ruin upon the sundered coast! With each enemy slain, our strength grows! We mustn't relent! The Lich King has spoken to each of you! Let his words resonate among you once more!"

He raises his fist for emphasis, his reverberating voice booms punctuating his words for emphasis. "**_All. Must. Die_**. Leave no survivors in your wake, brothers and sisters! No mercy for the weak! _Terror! Chaos! Destruction!_"

The death knights cheer in response. This is what they've been waiting for. "With the approaching darkness comes the end of the Scarlet Crusade. You will battle once more! For the Scourge! For the Lich King! Suffer well, death knights!"

Valanar pauses. His voice lowers yet is still strong enough to be heard across the group gathered before him. "The attacks upon the gates of the last Scarlet bastion have begun. Our ghouls are wearing the Crusade's front lines down while we labor to fortify our new forward base, the Crypt of Remembrance.

"Venture south to the crypt, which borders New Avalon, and report to my dear brother, Prince Keleseth. He will be expecting you. Prepare yourself, for you are about to witness the next stage of Scourge warfare: **_Domination_**!" Valanar has dismissed the death knights, turning to his adviser for a private word.

The death knights don't wait around, they quickly move towards the Crypt as ordered. Kreah glances at Cybrind, "Our prey has no song. They are scattered, disorganized, afraid. They need our master more than they know."

Cybrind nods quietly easily keeping pace along side of her. Havenshire has truly fallen. Only buildings remain. He pauses for a moment before the corral, his ear twitches briefly with the memory of the last time he was there before turning to follow Kreah. "I am called Cybrind."

Kreah looks up at him eyes search his, nodding with understanding.

"Death knights, come." Kreah and Cybrind eye the man before seeing what he needs. Noth stands tall in his robes standing at an empty platform. "Look at this pumpkin patch! Notice anything missing? Of course you don't, because you're a moron! Your brain was probably the first thing to die."

Noth sighs. "I have been commanded to put together a plague cauldron. You will help me. I have sent others to retrieve items. In the meantime, bring me back Crusader skulls. Do I need to tell you where to get those?"

Cybrind stares silently at Noth for a moment before walking away. He spots the Crypt off to their right.

"Cybrind," Kreah snaps at him. "Noth wants skulls. You won't find them in there." When he doesn't respond she growls at him. "Noth was right then, your brain was the first thing to die."

Cybrind laughs, "Prince Valanar and Prince Keleseth out rank Noth. Therefore reporting to Prince Keleseth is first priority." He glances behind her with a smirk. "Perhaps my brain was the first to die. Perhaps it was not."

Kreah snorts following him through the entrance, moving around the patrolling wraith to the depths of the Crypt.

Keleseth barely glances their way, "Nothing less than total annihilation will suffice. To that end, a few hundred mindless ghouls assaulting the front gate of New Avalon will not do. We must infiltrate the inner sanctum and dispose of their officials. They must be shown that no one can escape the Scourge's grasp!"

Keleseth's eyes gleam, "Make your way to the New Avalon Town Hall, southwest of here, and assassinate the mayor. Search the building for the New Avalon registry and bring it to me."

Keleseth turns his attention back to Baron Rivendare, discussing the confrontations between scourge and the Scarlet while the death knights filed out. Cybrind's step is lighter, eager taking the steps two at a time.

Bursting forth from the depths of the Crypt come death knights, Champions of the Lich King, to spread fear, chaos, and death among the Scarlet Crusade. They slip through the mindless ghouls that tear at the walls and gates of New Avalon to attack the soldiers and citizens within. They spread diseases, decapitate the dead and move ever forward to blanket the area with the bodies of the fallen.

The citizens of New Avalon drop like leaves at the very sight of them. They crush them beneath their heels. Kreah runs her blades through a citizen and laughs, "Their screams of pain and anguish are glorious! I drink their sorrow. I am the harbinger of their winter."

Cybrind snorts decapitating yet another female. He stares at her sightless brown eyes for a moment, "I grow weary of the slaughter. There is no challenge in killing unarmed women and children."

"Children?" Kreah peers at him, "I saw no…" Her head tilts and looks at the slight body lying at his feet. "Interesting. I would have thought they would at least want to save their children. Are they not the ones to come and avenge the death we bring to their people?" Kreah throws the head with the others. "We are closer to the mayor. It will be a day or two at the most to get through their gates. I'm sure there will be armed soldiers for us to kill there."

* * *

><p>They moved from building to building, killing any they found. Women, men, a few children, they all fell to the blades of a death knight. He crouches within a home. He stares at the furniture and contemplates the draw of the soft bedding, the call of the warmth that can be found within.<p>

The room is dim. The only light is the moon's glow from the window. His eyes narrow in curious wonder. The cold of death fills the building. Kreah sleeps soundly on the bed. The previous occupants are slaughtered and attracting insects on the ground around him. Still he is hesitant.

Kreah stretches and rolls over. She looks at him with sleepy eyes, "You should rest, too. It has been days since we had any sleep."

Cybrind can't deny his body much longer. He is exhausted. He props his blade against the wall beside the bed and lies down. A soft sigh escapes him when his head touches the pillow. Kreah snorts knowingly, "Stubborn, man."

Cybrind smirks and tugs her tail. "Hush, woman." Kreah's tail flicks, slapping at him and he laughs. She rolls over snuggling into his side to get comfortable and is soon asleep, again leaving him staring at nothing.

Cybrind frowns. With his arm around Kreah there is something nagging at him. His hand slips from her waist to her hip. The curves of a woman are familiar somehow. He stares down at her in the dim moonlight. Not a Draenei, but a woman all the same.

He closes his eyes allowing sleep to claim him, falling in to an array of images, memories, thoughts that play out before him. Memories toy with his mind, teasingly showing bits of what was or what may have been. Long black hair fanned across the pillow, big blue eyes smiling up at him, soft red lips parted with desire. Delicate sensitive long ears flick and twitch at a sound in the distance. Her sultry voice calls out to him.

"Cybrind," his ears twitch. "Wake up. Stubborn man, you don't want to sleep and now you won't wake."

Cybrind sighs. "I'm awake. Although, I can't very well get up with your weight on my arm. Or I can but in the process I will most likely knock you to the ground. What shall it be, hmm? Move or be thrown?"

He smirks at Kreah who simply snorts back at him. "I'd like to see you try."

Cybrind laughs and pulls her closer. He stops and hisses at the cold metal of her sword on his skin. "Hmmm, the lure of death. So tempting, so inviting…" His voice trails off.


	5. Chapter 5

**Annihilation**

Kreah's reverberating voice carries across the threshold to him, "Glorious."

Cybrind takes a few steps from the house joining her in the dim light of the early morning, his eyes scanning the small village. Each home, each building either has death knights emerging or is destroyed and burned beyond use. Death hangs in the air, agony flows in the wind. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. "Indeed."

With his sword in hand he moves around Kreah heading east towards the gates of the Town Hall. Mindless ghouls had worked wonderfully at the gates to New Avalon, yet they were not dispatched throughout the village. The honor of clearing the village is given to the death knights.

The blacksmith, inn, homes… they are all cleared of their inhabitants. Each died to placate the death knights' blood lust, each was slaughtered at his bidding, each death sang to them.

"What is down that path?" Cybrind nods towards the right.

"Tyr's Hand," Kreah steps beside him and looks down the path. Her swords slip from their scabbards with the quick scrape of metal. "We aren't going there… yet." She points towards their left, her runed sword glinting in the early rays of the sun. "For now we go to the Town Hall."

"Can you hear their cries for his blood?" Cybrind squares his shoulders, adjusts his grip on his sword commencing the search for the Mayor. "Quimby… Mayor Quimby…" His voice reverberates in the cold followed by a low guttural growl. He picks up his pace as others join them. The hunger is thick amongst the death knights. The copper taste of blood fuels their hunt. "There is life ahead. Can you smell their fear and rage?"

"It's intoxicating." Kreah picks up her pace. Cybrind follows suit. All of the death knights feel the call, the urge, and the luscious anticipation of the kill.

Soldiers stand guard at the entrance, walk amongst the protesters outside the Hall and protect the Mayor within the building. Protests, pleas, outcries, the incoherent outrage spills from the remaining living villagers beckoning the death knights. Death swarms towards the New Avalon Town Hall.

The fighting has begun. Cybrind casts his bone shield before entering combat along side them. The gate guards are overwhelmed by the sheer numbers and skill of the death knights. Their cries of pain and frustration fuel the surge forward.

Sounds of fighting and dying outside the protective walls are heard within. The villagers panic. Death is quickly approaching and their cries for action towards the leaders fall on deaf ears. Fear trickles like dew among them. A few at a time begin rushing the Town Hall only to be met by sword and soldier.

The gate shudders and buckles. The villagers cry out in panic. The soldiers are engulfed by the onslaught of bodies pressing in on them. Some of the villagers are slain by the soldiers. Others have been trampled by the throng of protesters. Bloody corpses lie around the courtyard of the Town Hall by the time the gate gives way.

The first to enter are the death knights of blood, clattering bone shields protect their torso, cold runic gazes face the soldiers with swords raised in attack.

The next wave is unholy death knights. They enter the grounds, streams of purple magic surge forward wrapping around villagers like a vice pulling them in for the kill. Those with minions send their personal ghoul into the crowd.

The last wave enters swiftly. Death knights of frost slip effortlessly between the others. Their quick blades kill and destroy all the living that is before them. The diseases and pestilence swarm the living. Their cries for mercy and aid go unheeded.

* * *

><p>A handful of death knights remained at the Town Hall. Battle can be heard in the distance as the rest moved onward to break through the Scarlet lines. The once blaring sunlight has given way to a hazy early evening. Six stand in the courtyard contemplating their next move. Reynolds stands peering at the barricaded door. "We could burn it down. The living is trapped inside. It would be faster than trying to break down the door."<p>

Cybrind's head snaps up. "No. Prince Keleseth wants the registry. Once we have that it doesn't matter how you destroy them as long as they _all_ die."

Reynolds stares at Cybrind for a moment then nods once. He sends a command towards his minion sending it around the building looking for other possible entries. "Windows are another option. Break them, gain entrance, grab this Mayor and the registry then burn it down."

"Grabbing Mayor Quimby is no longer important. If he still lives, he will be killed along with everyone else inside." Cybrind walks along the right side of the building eyeing the windows with interest. "This one appears large enough."

On the far right end of the building is a large stained glass window nestled into the wall. It practically reaches from one side of the building to the other starting approximately four feet from the ground to within a foot from the roof. "They will hear the breaking glass and try to flee through the only visible door," Kreah grins, "where I will be waiting for them."

Toots harrumphs. "I'll wait over there too, the window is too high."

Reynolds smirks, "We can use a Gnome to break the glass. This way we help them inside." He peers at the two Gnomes reaching for the male with the mohawk.

The man darts under his reach, rolling to his left swinging his mace to sweep Reynolds' legs from under him. "Not gonna happen, bag o' bones."

Cybrind ignores the two nodding in agreement with Kreah's idea. He looks at the three females; Kreah, Toots and a troll that stayed behind with Reynolds, "You three head to the door. We will break through this way. When the door opens, kill anyone that fights. Try to keep at least one person alive. I need someone to tell me which book is the one we are looking for."

Cybrind watches as the women move towards the front door. He hefts a corpse in his arms and throws it at the window silencing the two squabbling men. The glass cracks, the frame bends yet it doesn't shatter. He growls his frustration, grabbing another and repeating the action.

The commotion within the building grows to a low muffled roar. Their cries of surprise develop into cries of fear and disgust. Blood splatters along the window seeping through the cracks with each blow of a fresh corpse. Cybrind feels someone tapping at his thigh and pauses with yet another corpse in his arms. "What?" He snaps.

"Foolish Kaldorei," the Gnome smirks. He hands him his mace. "Try this."

Cybrind stares for a moment at the mace and quirks a raised eyebrow. "That would be too logical." He throws the body at the window before taking the offered weapon.

He grips the unfamiliar weapon in his hands adjusting his grip accordingly. It is a short weapon with a large head. It is heavy with an excellent balance. Cybrind swings the mace once to get a feel for it. With his second swing he aims for the window. The glass shatters, the iron framing warps. Fresh screams and yelling erupt from within the Town Hall.

A round man wearing purple with gray hair under an odd purple hat has his arms flailing barking at the people. "Stay calm, just stay calm!" He has his back towards the window. Some of the soldiers within the hall are lined between the window and the rest of the people inside. The man chances a glance over his shoulder and lets out a squeal of fright. "They've come fer me!"

Cybrind's lip curls. He pounds with the mace a few more times at the iron framing bending it to his will. He hands it back to the Gnome. "There is a man in purple, fat and pathetic. He's mouthy. I think he knows what we're looking for. Let's take him alive."

"Name's Bob," Bob takes back his mace. He eyes the window. "So uh, Bag o' Bones is right, I'm gonna need to be helped in."

"Thanks to your mace, I won't need to crush your skull to get you through." He chuckles, "Bag o' Bones is Reynolds. I'm Cybrind,"

"No smashing Gnomes? Such a shame," Reynolds snorts sending his minion in first.

The ghoul beats at the iron framing, bashing at it, weakening it further, and gaining the ire of the soldiers. A few have stepped forward and hack at the ghoul to keep him from entering.

Maniacal laughter rings through the air. "I believe they've met the others." Cybrind eyes the occupants within. It's hard to tell how many are inside. Books are thrown on the ground, lying on tables, stacked properly in numerous bookshelves. His eyes narrow. There is even one on the podium.

"He's running." Reynolds rips at the frame, broken glass slicing at the pale thin skin of his palms.

Cybrind grabs Bob and tosses him through the window. He grabs his sword and hops in following the ghoul. Reynolds enters last. The soldiers put up a valiant effort yet to the chagrin of the villagers, they perish at the hands of the death knights.

Bob grins wickedly, grabs a bit of corpse dust from a pouch at his waist and with an incantation raises a freshly fallen soldier. The once proud soldier sporting the Scarlet tabard teeters for a moment, catches his balance then looks with hunger at his new prey. Sword forgotten in his mindless state the risen soldier leaps at the nearest villager. He bites and claws at her, tearing skin and flesh from her body. She cries out in pain blindly bats at him trying to defend herself. "Pete! No, plea-"

Her blood flows from her gaping wounds. Her lifeless body is a feast for the ghoul with the tattered Scarlet tabard. This risen soldier is soon joined by others. Only this one stops mid-feast. He stares blankly and collapses in a heap.

Wedged beside a bookcase she crouches, rocking back and forth with her hands covering her ears. Her staff lies forgotten in her sudden lapse of faith. Her blond locks fall in front of her face. Her head is bowed in shame. Her mumbling cries bring a curious Cybrind. He stands before her extending his hand. "You fear us, yet you don't run or fight."

Her head snaps up with a gasp. She stares at his offered hand, tentatively reaching with her own. She slips her trembling hand within his. He pulls her to her feet. Her Scarlet robes are soiled with blood, dirt and grime. "Y-y-you…" Her voice fails her.

Cybrind steps closer to her, shielding her from the killing and dying within City Hall. She whimpers looking up at him. He stares at her searching within her green eyes as if he could see into her soul. "You understand. I hold your life within my grasp."

Her hand is still within his. She nods mutely afraid to speak, not trusting her voice.

"You do not fear death." His gaze holds hers captive.

She slowly shakes her head. Her lips form the silent word, 'no'. She gasps as he leans closer. He lays his cold cheek against hers relishing her warmth. She shivers.

Cybrind's voice is low, reverberating in her ear. "You seek death. There is something that I seek. You will tell me where it is and I will grant it." Again she nods in understanding. "The registry, where is it?"

"It…" Her shaky voice is barely a whisper over the screams within the room. "It is on the table by the window. It's the one with blue binding."

Cybrind looks behind him. He sees the book just as she said. He walks to the table taking her along with him. He holds her hand as he looks at the books on the table. He finds the registry setting it aside. His hand slips up her arm to her shoulder coming to rest at her neck. "You have done well."

She licks her lips nervously. "Please." His hand slowly closes over her throat. Her hands reach for his in panic. Her eyes widen. "Ah!"

"Mmm… fear is intoxicating. Still, a deal was struck." Cybrind leans close again, inhaling deeply with a soft chuckle snapping her neck. The priestess goes limp within his grasp. He lets her body fall to the ground at his feet. He raises his voice to be heard over the cries of desperation. "I have what we seek. Kill them all."


	6. Chapter 6

**Persuasion**

"Crimson Dawn…" Keleseth hands the registry to Baron Rivendare. "What is their fascination with the color red? Scarlet Crusade, Crimson Dawn. What's next, Burgundy Median?"

Keleseth walks over to a table, waving a dismissive hand to change the subject. He rummages around with items strewn about. "In my travels across this world I have made several interesting discoveries." He picks up an item, or two or three, tossing them aside continuing his search. "For instance, did you know that with the proper amount of _encouragement_ one can extract all the truths that a man dares hide?" No one responds to his rhetorical question. Keleseth continues once he finds what he's looking for. "Ah! As luck would have it, I happen to have some encouragement on hand."

Keleseth turns to face towards Cybrind and Kreah while pulling something from an ornately jeweled box. He tosses the box over his shoulder in the general direction of the table. The gleam in his eyes holds mischief and a promise of dark times ahead. Cybrind steps forward, eyeing the long metal rods with interest. "These are my _persuaders_." He pronounces the last word with emphasis and finesse. Kreah watches with mild apathy. "Take to the field, death knights. Apply the pointy ends to the soldiers of New Avalon." Keleseth demonstrates vaguely by jabbing the air with the pointed end. "Discover the truth about this Crimson Dawn." Keleseth tosses the rods to Cybrind prior to turning his attention back to Rivendare and the recently acquired registry.

Persuaders in hand, Cybrind and Kreah move quickly out of the Crypt of Remembrance. Kreah snarls, "I find the act distasteful. If one is weak enough to give in to something like that," she waves a hand towards Cybrind as he looks with fascination at the persuaders, "they should be slaughtered and put out of our misery."

Cybrind chuckles darkly. "Don't misunderstand. They _will_ die." He turns the persuader in his right hand. "After I get what I need from them, they will know death." He holds it up so the sun beams glint off the metal giving it an eerie reddish glow. His lip quirks to a half grin. "Find me a priest."

Kreah snorts, "A priest? Wouldn't it be just as easy to get answers from a soldier or scout?"

"Not necessarily. Soldiers and scouts are accustomed to pain and hardship. Priests are soft. Priests are misguided in their faith. Priests believe that their truths will protect them. Priests think their Light can save them." Cybrind and Kreah head towards Tyr's Hand. He can feel the arcane magic within the persuaders and touches the tips together, eliciting sparks. "Breaking a priest; manipulate him to give information freely, shatter his spirit until he betrays his beloved Light and force him to bend to your will. That is power." The image of the green-eyed priestess comes to him. He grins slyly, "Besides, I find their death… stimulating."

"Scarlet ahead," Kreah pulls her swords. Her tail flicks with anticipation.

"Excellent. I'll take the scout on the left. I want to see how these persuaders function." Cybrind extends his hand towards the scout as if he could touch him from this distance. Wisps of purple magic stream rapidly forward from his hand. It wraps tightly around the man like a vice as Cybrind closes his fist. Pulling his hand back the scout is jerked off his feet to be rushed through the air back towards Cybrind.

This process takes place in under a minute, less time then it takes his two traveling companions to mentally register what is happening. The two soldiers cry out, pulling their blades, and charge. Kreah intercepts them casting her diseases, slicing with her deadly swords that cut through the air and their flesh. Her blades harmonize a beautiful symphony of battle.

The scout is dropped at Cybrind's feet upon landing. Cybrind quickly jabs with the persuaders noting with satisfaction the involuntary twitching and spasms of the scout's body. "Excellent." He pulls the persuaders away, releasing the body.

The scout groans and struggles to stand. "You'll be hanging in the gallows shortly, Scourge fiend!"

"That may be true, but not before I get what I need." Cybrind applies the persuaders once more. Again the scout's body twitches, jolts and spasms. He cries out in frustration. Cybrind's voice is steady, inquisitive. "What is the Crimson Dawn?"

The scout has made it to a knee. He gasps in pain, holding one arm around his middle, the other attempts to pull his sword, "You'll have to kill me, monster. I will tell you _nothing_!"

"Very well," Cybrind quickly casts an icy touch dousing the scout's body with disease.

With a strangled shout of determination the scout pulls his sword at last and weaves from the effort. Cybrind sweeps the sword aside with his forearm, gritting his teeth against the impact. With one persuader, he seeks the vulnerable area of exposed skin just above the collar plunging the metal point into his jugular. The scout gurgles and sputters in protest, splattering Cybrind in crimson blood.

As the scout's body grows limp, Cybrind extracts the persuader. He leans over the body to tear the man's tabard, glancing up as a shadow crosses his path. "Ready?" He finishes cleaning the persuader with the torn piece of tabard, discarding the scrap as he steps away from the body. He joins Kreah in search of prey.

* * *

><p>Cybrind looks at them. Four battered, bruised, tortured people; each one is a priest, each one is stripped, each one is bound, each one is on their knees. He watches their expressions, their eyes, where they look and how they hold themselves. He points to the man, "Kill that one."<p>

The priest spits blood and saliva on the straw. "Destroy this mortal shell so that I may ascend to the heavens."

Kreah laughs, with swords swinging and a blue flash of frost, she strikes him down. "I should raise this one as a mindless ghoul, disturbing his soul." His body twitches as it falls. His blood sprays both Kreah and the priestess beside him.

Cybrind watches quietly. Three left, all women, all priestesses. The first priestess winces at Kreah's words, yet keeps her head up staring straight ahead. The second doesn't react, and the third simply closes her eyes for a calming moment before staring ahead of her.

Cybrind walks closer to them. All eyes are now focused on him in the dimly lit dungeon below the barracks. "What is the Crimson Dawn?" He steps in front of each of them in turn, constantly watching, measuring their reactions and reading their body language. "Is your life worth so little? Just tell me what I need to know about Crimson Dawn and I'll end your suffering quickly."

None of them speak. Either they don't believe his proclamation of a swift death or they don't fear them. Cybrind steps in front of the third priestess. He crouches staring her in the eyes. He leans in closer to her. She trembles when his cheek grazes against hers. "Pray to your God. Pray I do not allow her to reanimate you."

Her head snaps up and she curses him, "To the Void with you." Cybrind prods her with the persuaders. Her body jerks in pain, and she cries out through grit teeth. "Is that the best you can do?"

Cybrind chuckles low and deep with little to no humor in it. "There is so much more I can do." He takes the blunt end of a persuader and runs it down her side in a caress. "The question is: will your soul survive?"

The priestess closes her eyes and turns her head away from him. "You don't scare me."

"No," Cybrind uses one persuader to slide along her shoulder. The sparks of one are not as potent, "you don't fear death. You fear life." She hisses and shudders. She stares at him with hate-filled eyes.

Cybrind turns his attention to the other two women. They both watch him openly. The first priestess turns her gaze away when their eyes meet, closing her own. The second visibly swallows before turning away. "Kreah."

Without a word, Kreah pulls her swords once more, finding this whole process tedious. "Which one?"

Cybrind turns his attention back to the Priestess in front of him and smirks. "That one." He points at the first Priestess without a backward glance. He leans closer to the woman in front of him and inhales, smelling her fear. "Mmmm… there it is."

The first priestess cries out. "You… You'll get nothing… And like it…"

Kreah and Cybrind both pause and look at her quizzically. "I will get _something_. Your life." Kreah crosses her swords against her neck and pulls them across her throat. Blood seeps from her body. She gurgles her cry and falls backward. "I grow weary of this game."

"Very well, there are more Scarlet about. We haven't searched all buildings. If it pleases you, go kill any you find. Leave these two to me." Cybrind watches the smile spread on her face. "Try to enjoy yourself, Kreah."

Kreah laughs and leaves immediately, her tail swishing with anticipation. The sound of her laughter and hoof falls fading as she goes up the stairs.

The two women stare at him. The one to his left speaks for the first time. Her voice is low yet steady. "You're a monster. You're cruel and heartless."

Cybrind throws his head back with laughter. His voice reverberates within the small room, and his runic eyes are filled with mirth, "Yes."

"Yes?" She furrows her brow in confusion.

Cybrind stands, taking the two steps towards her, pulling her up as well. She winces at the impact when he pushes her against the wall. "Yes." He stands so close she shivers at the cold and wet stickiness of his bloody armor pressed to her body. "I am a monster. I am cruel." He closes his eyes brushing his cheek against hers, seeking her warmth. "Although, I'm not always heartless."

She looks up at him with wide eyes, "Please…"

"Mary, no!" Her voice doesn't hide her disgust and disappointment.

"Shut up, Agnes. If I must die now, it will be on my terms." Mary looks up at Cybrind. "I don't know much, but what I know I will tell you. I'll tell you everything!"

Cybrind's lip quirks with amusement, "your _terms_?" She casts a panic look at Agnes before leaning forward, reaching up on her toes to whisper to him. A low rumbling chuckle comes from deep within him. The sound is void of humor, causing both women to shudder. His lips graze her jaw. "Agreed."

Mary closes her eyes and leans her head back against the wall. Her shame is clearly written on her face. She turns her face away from Agnes, refusing to look her way.

Cybrind inhales deeply. The room smells of copper from all of the blood with a hint of fear and anticipation. He turns his back on them both, striding over to the only table within the room. He carefully sets the persuaders down before removing his gauntlets and bracers.

He walks back to Mary. He reaches around her to untie her wrists, moving her hands in front of her and binding them again. "Buckles."

"Oh," she frowns with concentration. Mary's eyes close momentarily as Agnes gasps with sudden understanding.

"Oh, Mary… no, no!" The fear and horror is evident in her plea. Agnes drops her head and weeps for her friend.

Mary's trembling, bound hands work at his buckles and he eases out of his pauldrons. He removes his chest plate and smirks at Agnes. "It isn't such a surprising request. Do you wish such a fate upon her? Never knowing the touch of a man before you die?" Cybrind chuckles, "Granted I would imagine she… Mary… would have preferred a living partner."

Cybrind has stripped down to his small clothes before taking her bound hands. He leads her to the torture rack and smirks. He helps her lay down, enjoying how she trembles. She stares at him with frightened eyes. "So tell me," his fingers rake down her body. She arches into his touch. "Tell me what you know about Crimson Dawn."

"We…" She gasps when his large cold hand slips between her thighs seeking her warmth. "We have only been told that the Crimson Dawn is an awakening." She whimpers when he strips the last of her clothes from her body. He pulls her to the end of the table. His hands sliding up and down her thighs, across her sex exploring her.

"An awakening?" He lifts her leg to his shoulder. He presses his lips against her pale skin, grazing it with his teeth.

"Oh!" She shivers from fear, from cold, with desire that blooms within her. The scent within the room shifts. No longer is it only the coppery smell of blood and death. Lust and sex joins in. Cybrind eases a finger into her core testing, teasing, enjoying the mewling noises he elicits from her.

"Awakening?" Cybrind wraps her legs around his waist and guides her forward to sit at the edge of the table. She lifts her bound hands to wrap around his neck. He eases into her slowly. She squeezes her eyes shut. "Mary…"

"Oh, you see, the Light speaks to the High General. It is the Light…" Her words die in her moans. He works his hips slowly. "The… oh, the Light…" Cybrind presses further. She tenses at the fullness and pain. "Wait, stop, oh please!"

Cybrind pulls her hips and with one swift thrust he's sheathed. She cries out. Her legs wrap firmly around him, trembling. He holds still and looks at her. "The Light, Crimson Dawn, awakening, High General?"

Mary nods and swallows audibly. "The Light guides us. The movement was set in motion before you came…" He begins moving his hips again, slowly at first. The more she speaks, the faster he thrusts. "We… ooooh, we do as we are told. It is what must be done."

Cybrind reaches between them, his thumb caressing her, urging her towards completion. He can feel her clenching around him. She shivers and presses closer. Her voice is ragged and strained, "I know very little else. The High General chooses who may g-go and… and who… oh… who must stay behind. There's nothing else…"

"Mary…" Cybrind stops and looks down at her. "There must be more to this."

Mary whines and bucks her hips, "No, please… please!"

Cybrind's hands grip her hips tightly holding her in place. She cries out in frustration. He thrusts his hips. "Tell me." He thrusts again. "We had an agreement."

Mary looks up at him in desperation, "There is one more thing…" She moans as his thrusts quicken. "A courier comes soon…" Her body shivers and tenses. "From Hearthglen. It…" She cries out with her head thrown back, her hands grasp at him clinging to him as he plunges deeper.

Cybrind captures her lips and moans deeply when she eagerly opens her mouth for him to plunder. His tongue dominates the kiss while spilling his seed in her. His thrusts slow as he gains control once again. He breaks the kiss leaving her breathless. "Please… what's your name?"

"Cybrind," he runs his lips across her shoulder to her neck.

"Thank you, Cybrind." She hesitantly kisses his neck, stopping when his hand is at her throat. She winces and looks up at him, licking her lips nervously.

"You fulfilled your end of the agreement and I have fulfilled mine." He places a small kiss on the corner of her lips. "Pray to your Light, Mary." Mary closes her eyes and he snaps her neck.

Cybrind pulls his breeches up, glancing curiously at the weeping Agnes. "I have not forgotten you."

Agnes shakes her head, "Please, just kill me."

Cybrind crouches in front of her, lifting her chin to look in her red-rimmed eyes. "I will." He rises, bringing her up to stand before him. He brushes a finger across her tear streaked cheeks with a momentary look of curiosity. "Is there anything more to be said?"

Agnes nods in acceptance. "High General Abbendis is waiting for the missive. She's at King's Harbor last I heard."

Cybrind's thumb slips along her neck feeling her pulse beating strong and fast, his grip tightening. His brows furrow when the yelling in the distance draws nearer. "It's time."


	7. Chapter 7

**Path of the Righteous**

"She wasn't simply afraid, there was something else… something… _more_." Cybrind frowns, thinking back on Priestess Agnes. "There was moisture on her face." He runs a thumb over Reynolds' cheek. "Her eyes were red-rimmed, swollen. It was an odd thing to behold."

"Those are tears. The woman cried." Reynolds watches his reactions and snorts when he gets none. "You have no idea what that means."

"I have no idea what the purpose is, tears appear to be a weakness, and I have no time for such things. Yet I found it… oddly _disturbing_." Cybrind shakes his head, clearing out thoughts of the day. "Women are odd creatures." He pulls Reynolds closer, in his constant search for warmth.

"True enough and yet I find them intriguing as well." Reynolds gets a distant look, a grin tugging at his lips when Cybrinds hands ghost across his body. "Yiseka is a talented weapon, in many ways."

"Who is Yiseka?" Cybrind raises an amused eyebrow.

Reynolds grins broadly. "Yiseka is the one I have been paired with. We have many common interests, both in combat and in sex."

Cybrind hands pause mid-ministrations, a look of curious contemplation in his eyes. "Is she the troll from Town Hall?" He chuckles when Reynolds nods in affirmation. "Yes, I can see why you'd take an interest in that woman. Her body is quite pleasing to view."

"What of you-" Reynolds moans, cutting off his question for the moment. "That Draenei, her body isn't too displeasing."

Cybrind's voice is deep with desire, grumbling from his chest. "Never. I'm not the sort she'd… uhnn…" He grips Reynolds harder. "Besides, there is-" He hisses through his teeth, his back arches.

Words are halted while their bodies speak for them. A thought strikes him while he leans into Cybrind. "Tomorrow we join the others." Reynolds bucks, moving with him. "We join the battle at last, and it means we will be apart again."

Cybrind's breath fans Reynolds' body, his hands leave bruises on pale skin. With this revelation, there is a sudden rush for fulfillment. Cybrind doesn't respond until their bodies are spent. A light sheen of sweat glistens in the dim moonlight. Reynolds' palm glides over Cybrind's chest. Cybrind pulls Reynolds to him, closing his eyes and getting comfortable. "Then this is our last night, Reynolds."

"I suppose it is." Reynolds' bony finger traces unseen patterns across Cybrind's chest, along his neck and over his lips. "Cybrind…"

"Hmmm…" Cybrind lazily glances his way.

Reynolds props his head on his hand and watches his fingers feather over his face memorizing his features. "Your mouth has been on my body, yet never allowing me a taste of your lips. Is there meaning in this act of denial, that you never kissed me?"

Cybrind captures his hand in his own, stilling it. "Perhaps there is. Rest now, tomorrow will be upon us soon."

Reynolds shrugs a shoulder, lays his head on Cybrind and exhales slowly. Silence drifts between them, sleep stealing them away. Cybrind's mind refuses to still, or give him the rest he seeks. Flashes of images dance in his mind. Images of a woman: black hair, and blue eyes, red-rimmed from crying.

Mary looks up at him with tear stained cheeks. She anxiously reaches for him, speaking words he can't hear, from lips that move without sound. She becomes impossibly pale skinned, her looks shifting before his eyes. She is no longer Human. Mary's ears are more like his, elongating and flopping with each shake of her body. She has a slight figure, thinning at her waist, fuller breasts that heave with her sobbing.

_'We had an agreement, Mary. Why did you come to me?'_ Cybrind frowns with annoyance.

Mary, or the woman that once was Mary, shakes her head in confusion. She tries once again to approach him yet her attempt is thwarted. He growls angrily, wrapping his large hands around her delicate neck. _'We had an agreement.'_

"Cy-"

The choked sound grates his nerves. "**_What_**?" Cybrind snaps irritably. His eyes fly open and he immediately releases Reynolds' throat.

Reynolds coughs through his chuckling. "That must have been an intense dream."

Cybrind frowns trying to remember the dream. The image of her blurs and fades. He sighs heavily, closing his eyes.

* * *

><p>Cybrind follows the shouting up the stairs to the second floor landing. There are dead bodies strewn across the area. Two Humans glare at each other as Kreah stands stoic between them. He gives a questioning look to Kreah. She shrugs a shoulder choosing to remain silent during the exchange.<p>

"Why do you care, Thassarian? His weakness led to his capture. Only the strong should survive. Not to mention…" Orbaz's voice trails off, the sentiment left unspoken.

Thassarian grits his teeth in frustration, as if they've had this argument or a similar one many times before. "What, Orbaz? That he's a blood elf? In life we were hated enemies - this is true…" He shakes his head, spreading his hands out encompassing everyone within the inn. "But in death… We are the children of the damned. The orphaned sons and daughters of the Scourge. In death we are brothers."

Orbaz scoffs, "To hell with you, Thassarian."

Thassarian sighs heavily and turns his attention back to Kreah. Orbaz turns his back on them and motions Cybrind over. "You are one of the death knights that brought the news of Crimson Dawn." Cybrind silently nods in affirmation. "We haven't got a damned clue about when or where this courier is supposed to show up. None of these Humans had an answer either."

Orbaz points to the Scarlet corpses scattered across the floor around them. "I did manage to beat something useful out of the last one. Inside Scarlet Hold they keep a schedule of all patrol routes. I want you to break into the hold and steal the schedule. The hold is the largest building in New Avalon - northeast of here."

Cybrind nods again. "I remember the building. We passed it on our way here. Is there anything else?"

Orbaz shoots a scathing glare towards Thassarian. "_No_. Kill anyone that gets in your way. I want that schedule."

"Understood," Cybrind takes the stairs two at a time. Once he arrives in the lounge area of the inn, he waits for Kreah to join him.

He's adjusting his cloak when he hears her hoof steps approach. "Ready?"

Kreah's eyebrows furrow, her lips purse while she struggles with her words. In the end she simply says, "Yes." Heading out of the front door quickly, leaving it open behind her.

Cybrind quickly follows, falling into step beside her. "Kreah, what troubles you?"

Kreah shoots him a frustrated glance. "I am to liberate one of our captured brothers in Scarlet Hold."

Cybrind's left eyebrow rises and he glances back towards the inn. "The one Thassarian and Orbaz spoke of." Kreah growls and nods in confirmation. "He is our brother-"

Kreah snaps. "I know!" She huffs, her hands clenching and releasing to work off her frustration. "We are children of the damned." She recites Thassarian's words.

Cybrind nods, "I agree that he is our brother." Kreah sneers. "I don't believe we should bring him back."

"Yet you just said…"

Cybrind holds up a hand to still her rant, "I do not give merit to this Horde and Alliance matter. He is our brother just as Thassarian says. I do not argue that point. What troubles me is his apparent weakness; it is what allowed his capture. Orbaz is right. If he is weak, he is not worthy."

"Only I have my orders." Kreah sighs in resignation. Her voice lacks conviction, "I will bring him back to our family."

* * *

><p>The Scarlet Hold's forces are comprised of a skeleton crew, at best. The two death knights carve their way into the belly of the Hold where they come across the very blood elf Thassarian and Orbaz discussed heatedly. "Kreah, those markings on his torso…"<p>

Kreah's lip furls with disgust at the weak man sprawled on the table. His wrists and ankles are strapped down with leather bindings. His torso and feet are bare. All armor removed leaving him in breeches typically worn under greaves. "What about them?"

"They are familiar to me." Cybrind snorts. "Though why they are, I do not recall. It doesn't matter. You have what you came for. I will seek upstairs for what I require."

The man on the table stirs with a groan. Cybrind turns his back on him and heads back up the stairs. His lip threatens to curl into an amused grin at Kreah's low growl of disgust. She has her quarry, now Cybrind is off to find his. He rounds the corner at the first floor landing heading towards the stairs up to the second. He pauses and calls back to her, "Be on your guard, Kreah. I hear reinforcements coming."

"Good! I hunger for a fight." Her voice drifts towards him as he rounds the stairs heading to his destination. He laughs openly and pulls his sword from its sheath.

Guards are posted sparingly throughout the second floor. Perhaps the Scarlet Crusaders didn't believe any of their enemy could possibly break through to the area, whatever their reason, Cybrind cuts through them quickly. Amidst the fighting, the sounds of battle come to him from below. A horn is sounded, someone shouts out orders and many voices cry out in pain before forever silent.

Cybrind grins in the knowledge that Kreah is handling things well in the basement. He comes around another corner and hops back immediately. "Monster!"

"This again?" Cybrind smirks. "Is that the best your lot can come up with? I'm sure I am many things, a monster being too simple a description."

Sword and mace clash with the sound of metal meeting metal. The cacophony ringing through his ears, Cybrind pushes him back with an elbow to the head, well protected by the helm covering his face. The Scarlet warrior shakes and growls. "Scourge filth!"

"Come now, I've heard that one a dozen times already. You're not even trying." Cybrind grits his teeth when the man casts a holy spell that bathes him in a golden glow. "Oh, naughty… you and your blasted Light."

Cybrind takes the hilt of his sword and brings it down hard against the side of his head. The mask caves inward causing the man to howl in pain. He swings his mace vertically with brute force, catching Cybrind on the side and throwing him into a wall. The man rips off his helm, tossing it aside. His eyes are wild with self-righteous indignation. "I am Scarlet Commander Rodrick! You will die by my hands."

"I am his champion. His weapon." Cybrind holds his ribs, his breathing is labored. He looks behind Rodrick at the table, noting only one book amongst the papers scattered over it. His lip twitches with a smirk. "And you are welcome to try."

Cybrind pushes himself away from the wall. He grits his teeth against the pain, his eyes narrow and he summons his bone shield. The clattering of bones fills the room. The look of disgust on Rodrick's face is matched by the amusement on Cybrind's.

Cybrind finds breathing difficult and refrains from breathing too deeply. He slows his body, filling it with Vampiric Blood. He raises his sword more steadily, his mind races. He knows this is only a temporary solution. His gaze is even and challenging. Rodrick begins muttering words to cast once again and Cybrind throws a blast of frost to interrupt him. Rodrick howls, his mace wavers as he uses a hand to grip his head. Rodrick's voice cracks, "Die!"

Cybrind flings his hand forward again, dark wisps of shadow magic stream forth taking Rodrick in its grip. He pulls the magic back within himself yet Rodrick is unmoved. "Your end has come, Rodrick."

Rodrick begins chanting again, his words a jumble of incantations of the Light, a golden glow begins to surround him. Cybrind growls, bringing his sword around in a Death Strike. His sword connects and they both howl, Rodrick howls in pain and Cybrind howls in victory.

Rodrick staggers back and glares at him. Runic blue eyes meet piercing gray, both men determined to destroy the other. Rodrick swings his mace as Cybrind approaches. Cybrind casts his Icy Touch before he's within striking distance. Rodrick cries out, swinging prematurely meeting nothing but air. "You're nothing but a tool, abomination."

Cybrind brings his sword around again for a plague strike, riddling Rodrick's body with more disease. Rodrick summons his resolve, crying out to the Light with incantations. Cybrind swings his sword again in another death strike, gasping as his vampric blood leaves him.

Rodrick stumbles back, falling to a knee. "I am-" Rodrick coughs up blood. He stares at the ground before him, his eyes grow wide as thick tubular forms come at him. "Wha-"

The blood worms swarm him. Cybrind stands a bit taller and watches for a moment. "Blood worms."

Rodrick screams in pain, trying to fight off the blood worms. "Unholy blight-"

"There are things one should not know about us, it will destroy your mind." Cybrind laughs, coughs and grimaces. "Time to die, Rodrick."

Cybrind steps around the heap on the ground toward the table. Cries of pain, disgust and anger ring throughout the Scarlet Hold. He drags the book closer to him, lifting the binding. He glances at the pages and snorts. Quickly plucking it from the table he makes his way back downstairs.

An eerie silence falls over the Hold. Cybrind pauses and listens to it. Plated footfalls come from the staircase to his left. Cybrind glances over in time to watch the blood elf they found in the basement, making his way towards the entrance, hollering about the death of a High Inquisitor. The man stands a bit straighter than Cybrind had expected, making him wonder if the blood elf has taken a potion and if there are more available.

Unhurried hoof clomping follows his exit. Kreah stops at the top of the staircase, bloody and grimacing in disgust. She holds a sack dripping with blood out before her. "Such an odd man."

"What was he carrying on about and to whom is he hollering?" Cybrind falls in step with her as they make their way back to the inn. "And what is that?"

"Koltira, the blood elf in the basement, is under the impression that I'd require his assistance during my exit. Apparently he hadn't expected us to be thorough enough to clear the hold prior to his rescue. He said he would create a diversion and I suppose that is what all the hollering was about. As for this, well this is Valroth's head. Apparently it is important to Koltira that I bring it back to Thassarian with a message." Kreah shrugs a shoulder, glancing over at Cybrind. "Find your book?"

"Along with the Scarlet Commander, but from the look of you I'd say your Inquisitor was more entertaining." Cybrind laughs when Kreah grins at him. He hisses and quickens his step. "I need to find someone to kill… my ribs are still injured."

Kreah matches his pace. "I see… or you could simply drink this." She hands him a warm brown vial.

"Ah, Noth's special brew." He pulls the top with his teeth, spitting it out on the ground before drinking the contents. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing at the taste. He stares at the bottle. "Never tell him I said this, but Noth truly is a genius."


	8. Chapter 8

**Messages**

Cybrind watched, listened and moved. He doesn't understand the importance of the task. He only knows that it is to be carried out sans question. He tightens his grip on his sword and walks toward the building stealing a glance back at the Knight Commander.

"I can't possibly be the only one to find his directions… odd." Cybrind is relieved to hear his question voiced by another, nodding in silent agreement. Kreah doesn't react, Yiseka snorts, Reynolds simply continues, "Why do I care about any prisoner of the Scarlet Crusade? They were weak enough to be caught, they deserve death."

Cybrind smirks and glances at Kreah. Her tail flicks impatiently, "Then we kill the prisoners and be done with it. No need for understanding. We bring death to those who deserve it." She pulls her swords from their sheaths, the four stand at the entrance to the prison. She looks at the odd run down building and scoffs. "I'm surprised they could keep anyone from escaping this pathetic building."

"Agreed, the dungeon at the keep was in better shape, not to mention the holding cells in Tyr's Hand. Why here, next to a chapel in such a run down shack? What kind of prisoners could they possibly keep in this place?" Cybrind peers at the building for answers, yet receives none.

"Pah, let's just kill, mon. I be gettin' bored." Yiseka grabs the door handle and swings it open. Cries of fright welcome them. "Mmm, smell tha fear."

Reynolds follows them in, "Why must we waste our time speaking to them? They aren't even armed."

The interior of the shack is just as rundown as the exterior. A dozen or more half-clothed beaten prisoners are within; some huddle in a group, others stand or sit alone. There are even a few too weak to get out of bed, lying in their own blood, sweat and filth.

Reynolds points towards a woman with deep blue hair, purple skin and long ears, "There's a Kal'dorei. She must be the one the Knight Commander intended for you to kill personally."

Cybrind looks over and nods slowly, "Yes." His eyes narrow and he pauses. "Interesting, she does not weep as other women do."

Reynolds smirks, "Then perhaps she needs to meet you. Go put the fear of the Lich King in her."

The four make their way through the room. Each stands before a prisoner, hearing them plead for their lives before a sword or axe ends them. Cybrind systematically makes his way to the Kal'dorei, standing before her crouched body. Her head is lowered as if she is praying to some unnamed, unseen God. His sword is held loosely in his hand, dripping with the blood of his victims.

"Come to finish the job?" She stares at the growing pool of blood and shudders. "I would like to stand for my death." She rises slowly, pulling herself to her full height.

Cybrind's eyebrow quirks with amusement, he pulls back his hood and stares at her silently. He towers over most and he is taller than she is, yet unlike most she can almost look him eye to eye. Her words were spoken in Common, not unfamiliar to him yet still odd to his ears. Instead of answering in the same, he slips into Darnassian. "What is it about you that the Knight Commander finds so interesting? Why does he send me to kill you personally?"

His accusing, reverberating voice causes her to flinch. She takes a calming breath and lifts her chin defiantly, responding in kind, her words flow like musical notes. "I don't know. I did nothing to gain his ire that I am aware of." She meets his gaze and gasps, "Cybrind?"

Searching his face with her silver eyes, she hesitantly steps forward. "I know that face. I know you. You… you don't remember me?"

She lifts her hands and touches his face. Her palm flattens against his cheek, cupping his face tenderly while her eyes plead with him to remember. Cybrind frowns, his look hardens. The woman doesn't falter under his intense gaze. "Yazmina, my name is Yazmina Oakenthorn. You are Cybrind Elidin, and when you were just a child your mother would leave you in my care. Your mother was a sentinel and served at the Temple of the Moon."

Cybrind's gaze doesn't change its intensity. No recognition is sparked and Yazmina continues trying to break through to him, "I held you in my arms and fed you with honey and sheep's milk. I sang you to sleep. Picked you up when you fell. You grew to become a respected druid and served along side your father. You must remember. You saved lives, you didn't take them." Her hand encircles the slaughtering happening around them, "This isn't you… this isn't what you believe in. Balance of our world, nature and life." Her hand drops from his cheek to his chest, resting over his heart. "Cybrind, what have they done to you, to your soul?"

Yiseka wanders their way, her axe and tusks glisten with blood. Yazmina cowers, stepping closer to Cybrind. Her voice is rushed, wavering with fear. "Listen to me, Cybrind and hear my words. Fight him, fight against the Lich King's control. He wants to ruin everything, kill everything in our world. Fighting demons was hard but you prevailed. Now fight the scourge. Fight, damn you."

She grabs his sword arm, trembling. "Kill me… finish me or they will kill us both." Her eyes frantically look around the room, taking in all the death surrounding them and her fear finally wins out over her calm.

Cybrind cups her face, his thumb resting under her chin forcing her to look up at him. "Yazmina," Her eyes widen and lock on to his blue runic orbs. A small tentative smile of hope wavers on her trembling lips. He lowers his face towards hers, holding her eyes captive, "This is who I am. I am his weapon. There is only his will, his song."

Yazmina whimpers and tries to shake her head in denial. "No! You're Cybrind, you're-"

Cybrind snaps her neck, stopping whatever words she intended to speak as her last. "I am his champion." He lets her body drop to the floor in a heap at his feet. Tightening his grip on his sword, he steps away from her body.

Reynolds stands before a Forsaken prisoner, speaking a language that Cybrind doesn't understand. Their body language, on the other hand, speaks volumes to him. He stands behind Reynolds, his icy gaze pins the other man into silence. His amber gaze doesn't flinch and Cybrind smirks, amused at his boldness. He brings his lips closer to Reynolds and speaks to him in a grumbling, intimate whisper. "There is something he sees in you that I missed? He's bold, I'll give him that. Did he know you intimately, long ago in a time forgotten and best left that way?"

Reynolds hisses at him. "Do not presume to know my mind, Kal'dorei. You don't speak Gutterspeak, you couldn't possibly understand."

Cybrind's lip twitches in distaste, "Perhaps not, but he does not cower in fear as he should. Your shoulders droop with resignation." He breaks eye contact with the Forsaken man. Cybrind dips his head to bring his lips along Reynolds' paper thin jaw. "I can taste your doubt."

Reynolds stiffens with anger. The man before them speaks in a hurried tone causing Reynolds to growl. Kreah joins them. She walks over to the Forsaken man, the last prisoner still among them though technically not living. The Forsaken looks at her with his amber eyes narrowing. "Hmph, that stupid sniveling coward clinging to a life that no longer exists." Her tail flicks in her annoyance. "He spoke of my past life. Before his cold embrace, before his beautiful song. That life has been extinguished. The champion of good he spoke of no longer exists." The gleam in her eyes dances, "So, I granted him the same fate."

She flicks at the Forsaken man's hair. "What is with this one, he too pleads for life?"

Reynolds quietly seethes. Yiseka joins them, bored again. "Come on, mon. You need me ta finish dis one?" She frowns, noting Reynolds' annoyance. "What? Simple question, no need ta get angry. We jus gonna burn da building, anyway."

Yiseka wanders away, Kreah following her out. Cybrind sneers at the Forsaken man before them, knowing he can't understand his words, but surely he can guess his intent. His reverberating voice is cold, emotionless and to the point. "Kill him, Reynolds. Kill him… or I kill you both."

Cybrind turns his back on the two Forsaken men, leaving the fate of them both in Reynolds' hands. Once outside, Cybrind glances over his shoulder towards the door. His hand grips the hilt of his sword tighter for a moment until Yiseka starts telling a tale about a troll prisoner she met inside, effectively bringing his attention elsewhere.

The door slams open, Reynolds walks out and past them. The three stop their conversation and watch him in silence. Yiseka frowns. "He can be so moody sometimes. Make me wondah if he be da girl and I be da man." She snorts loudly.

Cybrind ignores the cackling women and follows him. He sheaths his sword and crosses his arms. Reynolds doesn't react to his presence, he simply watches as others burn one of the surrounding buildings. "Without understanding Gutterspeak, I can speculate as to what he had to say. Let's see… he said he knew you. He said you aren't this person you are now. He urged you to fight for what he wanted or believes in and to defy the Lich King."

Cybrind looks at Reynolds then to gauge his reaction. Reynolds frowns, drops his gaze and growls. "Reynolds, that's why they picked us. Somehow they knew. By design or purely by luck, each of us four knew one person in that room or was known to them, and that is why we were tasked to kill him or her. We were tested, our loyalty was tested."

"Avynirus," Reynolds frown deepens.

"That man-"

"No." Reynolds interrupts him, "That is _my_ name, Avynirus Reynolds. I was human once, two lifetimes ago. I lived in Lordaeron as a city guard until the scourge came. I was killed, I was raised scourge. My mind was freed by the Dark Lady only to die again. Now I am raised once more under the control of the Lich King." He shakes his head refusing to look at Cybrind, "So you weren't wrong when you sensed my doubt, which just angered me. I hear his song, I feel his will. To what end?"

Cybrind shrugs a shoulder, "To our end. It is our fate. Kill or be killed. There is no question, there is no doubt. Our lot is set, our path is clear. Those that do not hear his song perish."

* * *

><p>Cybrind and Kreah stand at the cliff's edge as Scarlet Crusade troops gather below them in King's Harbor. Cybrind watches with interest as a lone rider makes his descent into the valley. The Scarlet Courier crouches low over the horse's body, his cape flowing behind him, his hood pulled low against the blinding sun. The pair can hear the rise of morale as cheers and encouragement shout towards the courier upon his arrival.<p>

The Scarlet Courier rides swiftly between the patrols towards his destination. He doesn't acknowledge the troops. His focus is on High General Abbendis and the message he is to deliver to her. The man is rigid in the saddle when he approaches a table surrounded by, what can only be presumed from this distance, as officers. "I wonder…"

Kreah looks at him puzzled. "What?"

"I wonder what Orbaz's motivation was." Cybrind crouches as the clouds part and the sun shines through. "Forsaken were once Human."

Kreah's tail flicks impatiently, she shifts her weight from one hoof to the other. "What does it matter? He has a job to do, he is doing it."

"True." Cybrind narrows his eyes against the sun, pulling his hood further over his face to shield him. The Scarlet Courier hops down from his steed, takes a few steps towards the table, salutes and presents the parcel. "Yet Orbaz is still swayed by this 'Alliance / Horde' conflict that only the living should care about."

Kreah's arms are folded before her, she frowns yet doesn't respond. The Scarlet Courier stands beside his steed patiently waiting. There is heated discussion at the table. Arms flailing this way and that until Abbendis puts up a hand to silence them all. She busies herself at the table before handing the courier her response.

It isn't until the Scarlet Courier begins his return trip that Cybrind bothers to speak again. "Casting a spell on Reynolds to make him appear as his former Human self is needlessly cruel. Any of us could have gone in his stead, including several Humans."

Kreah harrumphs, "Why do you care?"

"I don't." Cybrind shakes his head, "I just find it curious." He begins the walk back towards the inn. "If Orbaz is using his former affiliation with one faction over the other, he is weak minded and toying with his weapons needlessly. Alliance, Horde, none of that should matter. Who someone was is unimportant. What use they have to serve his purpose now is all that should matter. Orbaz intentionally sought out a Forsaken, someone that could have been broken by the spell cast upon him, therefore running the risk of jeopardizing the mission. Why?"

Kreah frowns. Her pace easily keeps up with his. The steady beat of the horse's hooves sound louder as it approaches. She looks at the glare of concentration, hatred and discomfort on the Scarlet Courier's face. "You don't think Orbaz wanted the mission to fail do you?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not." He takes the reins of the steed as Reynolds quickly dismounts. With a nod Reynolds departs in order to enter the inn, leaving Cybrind and Kreah to look after the beast. "Perhaps Orbaz simply wanted to break him not the mission."

Without another word, Cybrind walks the steed towards the back of the inn. "You served well, and you will again." He rests his hand on the beast's neck and tethers him to a post.


	9. Chapter 9

**Apocalypse**

Death's Breach overlooks the valley. At this vantage point one can see the whole valley all the way to the white walls of New Avalon. He stands tall, towering over his death knights. Each death knight, his champions, kneels before their master. He looks out over the land below watching as his minions, abominations, ghouls and geist, carry out his orders.

The Lich King walks slowly back and forth across the pedestal absorbing the sights, sounds, smells. The moment is at hand, the time has come. The final battle lies before them. Troops amass at the gates of New Avalon. "Where is your Light now, Crusaders?" The hatred in his voice is tainted with contempt and amusement.

He turns his attention back to his champions. "You have slaughtered legions beyond number and still your dark hearts crave more. Your hunger knows no end."

Cybrind looks up through the shadowy depths of his hood. He trembles before the strength and power of his master lowering his head reverently.

"There must come an end to all things, death knights. The Scarlet armies make their final stand against us. For them, there is no escape… no choice. And for this reason they will fight with a ferocity that you have yet to witness."

The Lich King points Frostmourne in the direction of five individuals. All five stand immediately and step forward. "Use the horn to call forth one of my wyrms. Climb upon its back and command it into battle. With it you will end the Scarlet Crusade."

Each of the five takes a turn at blowing the horn, each climb onto a wyrm that obeys the call and each ride off towards New Avalon to do their master's bidding.

Screeching wyrms join the fray. Their frozen deathbolts strike foe and minion, killing everything it touches. The Lich King watches silently until he directs his words to the remaining death knights. "We now turn all of our efforts to Light's Hope Chapel. No longer will this affront to your master be allowed to exist!

"I have issued my final command. Scourge Commander Thalanor awaits your arrival at the edge of Browman Mill. Go northwest, through the tunnel, into the Noxious Glade and take the path leading out of the glade to the mill." He turns his attention back to the valley dismissing them. "Do not fail me."

Together the death knights rise, together they salute their master, and together they go forward into battle. Cybrind tightens his grip on his hilt, frowning deeply at the odd gnawing feeling in his gut. Every skirmish they've encountered, every life they've taken, every lesson they've learned, has led them to today's battle. Each death knight is silent filled with anticipation while moving as one through the tunnel onward towards the Noxious Glade.

The sun shines down on the dark figures that swarm through the glade. The warmth of its rays are wasted on the eternally cold undead. Onward they move, pushing ever forward to Browman Mill, to bring havoc and death to the living.

Cybrind hears a snort and cackle from a familiar voice and glances to his left at the source. Noth stands a few feet away, a new cauldron, and a new batch of his special brew. He holds one of his vials out towards him. Cybrind pauses. He stares at the vial for a beat before accepting it. He nods silently and is swept away with the throngs of champions.

Scourge Commander Thalanor paces before them. He has yet to acknowledge their arrival. He frowns and nods as if he's listening to a voice only he can hear.

Crouching in the back is a single man, bracing himself for what lies ahead. He looks up warily when approached and snarls at the man who dares disturb him. Cybrind tucks the vial in his belt staring down at Reynolds. "Your doubts cloud your mind. They make you weak. Hearing his call, hearing his song is not enough if you are afraid to carry out his orders."

Reynolds looks at him from the depths of his hood. "What do you know of fear, Kal'dorei?"

Cybrind tugs his hood down, exposing Reynolds' bare head to the light of the sun. He stares at his eyes, the mirror to the soul. "I know you're afraid of losing a life that isn't yours. You cling to what you once were. Did you kill that man in the prison?"

Reynolds stares coldly at him not responding. The silence between them is broken by Thalanor as his voice carries easily over to their way. "The Argent Dawn stands defiantly against us. They dare oppose the Scourge and for _that_ reason alone they must be destroyed!"

Cybrind and Reynolds do not move. They continue to stare at each other with open hostility. "The mighty armies of the Lich King stand at the ready as the final battle for the Plaguelands approaches. Highlord Darion Mograine will issue the final march orders and command our armies."

Cybrind looks behind him at Highlord Mograine as he sits stoically upon his steed, flanked by Orbaz on his left, Thassarian and Koltira on his right. The four look out towards what Cybrind can only assume is Light's Hope Chapel. Without a word, the death knights fall into line behind the four horsemen. He has that same odd feeling in his gut and looks around quietly.

Reynolds' head is lowered once again, he appears lost in thought. Cybrind crouches before him. "These doubts will kill you."

Reynolds' head snaps up and he sneers at Cybrind. "What do you know of the Forsaken? What do you know of _me_?"

Cybrind stares him in the eyes, daring him to look away. "I know all I need to from your eyes. I can see the doubts within you. If I can see them, others will."

Reynolds tears his gaze away and looks to the ground before him. "You know nothing."

"I know you're a fool." Again their eyes clash until they are interrupted once again, this time by Mograine.

Highlord Darion Mograine raises his voice, calling out to the masses around and below him. "Soldiers of the Scourge, stand ready! We will unleash our fury upon the Argent Dawn! The sky weeps at the devastation of sister earth! Soon, tears of blood will rain down upon us!

He holds his arms out at his side, calling upon the undead. "Soldiers of the Scourge, death knights of Acherus, minions of the darkness: hear the call of the Highlord! _RISE_!"

"If I find that you did not kill that man, I _will _kill you." Cybrind stands gripping his sword. He looks down at Reynolds who scowls and stands as well. All around them the earth erupts, the ground shakes and shatters. Thousands of Scourge rise up at Mograine's command. The rumbling sound is deafening.

The sun had been shining, beating down on them. With the words of Mograine, the sun is blocked by magics turning the sky gloomy and dark. "The skies turn red with the blood of the fallen! The Lich King watches over us, minions! Onward! Leave only ashes and misery in your destructive wake!" Mograine lifts his sword above his head rallying the Scourge forward. "Death knights of Acherus, the death march begins!"

Abominations, ghouls, geist, and death knights march upon Light's Hope Chapel. Odds are in their favor, sheer numbers are on their side. They are the Scourge, they do not fear death, they are death, they are his weapons, they are his champions and they carry out his will. Cybrind lifts a hand, palm up and watches the blood pool within. It is diluted with water of the rains but blood does indeed rain down on the battle field.

Reynolds stands where he is, watching the masses move. He frowns pulling his hood over his head hiding his face within the shadow of his hood. Cybrind circles behind him, his voice echoes in his ear. "It is time, Reynolds." Cybrind's grip tightens on his hilt.

Reynolds lifts his gaze to glance at Cybrind and snorts. He moves to follow the others, Cybrind moves to march along beside him. "Do you remember what that little pink haired Gnome told you?"

Toots' words have come to mind many times since that day in the prison. "You will betray me." Cybrind gives a side glance. "So the time has come."

Reynolds doesn't respond. He makes a hand gesture, summoning a minion to his side. His grip tightens on the hilt of his axe. The fighting at Light's Hope Chapel starts long before Reynolds and Cybrind arrive. Reynolds looks at one of the Argent Dawn and glares, his minion pounces upon him, raking his claws at his armor to distract him.

Gripping his sword Cybrind clenches his teeth and charges into the fray. His bone shield erupts around him before the first sword can come near him. Mograine's voice rises above the din commanding the minions to come to his aide.

Cybrind ignores his order and sends his death grip at an unusual sight amongst the legion of Human Paladins and soldiers, a lone male Tauren. The Tauren fights against the stream of purple magic surrounding him, clawing at him. Cybrind's eyes narrow, his lip quirks with intrigue. The Tauren's will is strong and Cybrind is going to enjoy destroying him.

The Tauren manages to fight off the magic of Cybrind's death grip annoying the death knight making him even more determined. The Tauren drops to a knee gasping for breath, looking around to see who sent that bit of magic after him.

Cybrind's gaze is directed at him. He pushes his hood back, their eyes clash. The Tauren pushes himself up on his hooves and braces himself. Cybrind smirks and comes for the Tauren, his sword ready to strike, his bone shield clattering around him. The Tauren begins casting spells long before he reaches him. He's hit with flame shock, lava burst, lightening bolt and still he comes. Cybrind grits his teeth against the onslaught of spells, swinging his sword in an arc as his head swims in pain.

Cybrind's sword digs into his mail armor. The Tauren roars out in pain. He growls and comes at the Tauren again, "Shields won't save you, Tauren." He knows the Tauren won't understand his words, but that doesn't matter. His blood courses through him, the adrenaline and his hunger for the kill spurs him on. The battle rages around them, yet Cybrind only sees the Tauren and the life he intends to take from him.

A ghoul jumps at him. The Tauren is distracted but for only a moment. He's confused at the actions but doesn't hesitate to use it to his advantage. Casting spells as quickly as possible, throwing a healing stream totem down to ease the loss of blood. A Forsaken joins their fight but why?

Cybrind swings his sword using his weight to cleave a heart strike at both the ghoul and the Tauren. His eyes narrow as an icy touch washes over him, the disease instantly seeks his blood. He growls and stares with hate filled eyes at the Forsaken. "You dare?"

"Yes! You threatened _me_. You think that will go unanswered? Your death will be among the many strewn across the battle field. You will not be missed." Reynolds' cold voice sends a chill through the Tauren. The enemy of his enemy is still his enemy. He drops another totem as the earth's grasp draws forward roots holding Cybrind prisoner. His head whips around to glare at the Tauren. Cold runic blue eyes meet stubborn brown as the Tauren refuses to back down.

The Tauren isn't fooled by Reynolds' aide. Just as he limited Cybrind's movement, the totem affects them both rendering Reynolds powerless giving the Tauren a brief respite in the fighting. The ghoul turns his attention from Cybrind, heading straight for the Tauren.

With a growl of frustration and a third totem, a fire elemental appears to intercept the ghoul. The Tauren is looking from Reynolds to Cybrind. Cybrind can feel the roots loosen around him, his lip quirks. He watches the Tauren raise his arms slowly as the ground rocks under their feet, a cloud of dust rises from the soil as the earthquakes breaks out beneath them.

The roots drop as quickly as they rose. Cybrind's icy gaze hardens once again. With the ghoul distracted and Reynolds temporarily held, his attention is once more on the Tauren. He thrusts his hand forward and the Tauren growls trapped in chains of ice.

Cybrind grips his sword and swings for Reynolds. The totem fades, the roots are gone, Reynolds dodges. Cybrind's sword misses him within inches but his icy touch doesn't miss. Reynolds' head snaps up, his runic eyes are wild with anger and panic. "You'll die, Kaldorei."

"Yes, but not by your hand." His sword slicing through the air, Cybrind sweeps upwards catching Reynolds before he can dodge out of the way. "He lives then. That's what this is about. You foolish treacherous Forsaken, you will regret this."

Fat thick blood worms pop from the ground seeking out the Tauren, granting Cybrind healing. His bone shield bursts forth, his sword swings again and again. Reynolds' his axe blocks him. Reynolds grunts on impact, the blood soaked ground has a new pool beginning. "Never." Reynolds' hand clenches into a fist, he cries out in relief. His ghoul falls fulfilling their death pact, sacrificing its life force to bolster its master.

A Paladin bursts forth from Light's Hope Chapel's doors. Cybrind and Reynolds both wince at the power that rolls off of him as he strides between them. His voice is like steel, uncompromising and cold. The holy Light surrounds him like a beacon in the darkness. "Bring them before the chapel!"

Cybrind looks around in stunned silence. Abominations, ghouls and geist vanish, swallowed by the earth beneath their feet. He growls gripping his sword.

Mograine drops to his knees before him, this man of the Light. "Stand down, death knights. We have lost… The Light… This place… No hope…"

That same unease in his belly stirs. Cybrind stares in horrr at the traitors. Mograine, Thassarian and Koltira all kneel in defeat before this Paladin. He looks around for Orbaz, relieved to see he made his escape. Cybrind doesn't have the stomach to watch them prostrate themselves.

He turns his back on them coming face to face with the Tauren. His big brown eyes search Cybrind's and he snorts. His deep rumbling voice sounds amused, "Even now, in the face of defeat, you are rebellious. You could not defeat me. Yet you continued to fight me, why?"

"Common? Do all Tauren speak common?" Cybrind's eyebrow is raised in surprise.

The Tauren snorts. "All Shaman of the Earthen Ring speak Common." His brows furrow as he searches Cybrind's face, "But you knew that."

Cybrind doesn't respond to this choosing instead to answer his previous question. "I sought an opponent worthy of my time. You fought well, Shaman." Cybrind grants him a respectful nod. "If I was to die here, it would be at the hands of someone strong enough to defeat me…" He glares at Reynolds, "Without resorting to treachery." Cybrind's lip curls in disgust when Reynolds joins the others, dropping to his knee before the Paladin.

"Touching…"

Cybrind whips around at the sound of his master's voice. He drops immediately to his knee in relief. Mograine suddenly becomes angry, raising his sword against the master. "You have forsaken me, bastard! Face the might of Mograine!"

Cybrind could only watch in fascination as Mograine's body rises in the air and is thrown aside like refuse. "Pathetic…"

The Paladin is also angry. Cybrind isn't surprised, most living hate his master. This one, this man, this Paladin is different. Cybrind felt his strength and power when he walked by. A fight between him and his master should be interesting. "You're a damned monster, Arthas!"

The Lich King stands as he always does, tall, proud, righteous and assured. His voice is tinged with amusement. "You were right, Fordring. I did send them in to die. Their lives are meaningless, but yours…" He lets Frostmourne's tip sink into the soil at his feet. "How simple it was to draw the great Tirion Fordring out of hiding. You've left yourself exposed, Paladin. Nothing will save you…"

The Lich King reaches for the Paladin, Fordring, weaving a spell that drops the mighty Paladin to his knees, gasping for breath. Cybrind swells with pride. The power his master commands is intoxicating. Cybrind licks his lips in anticipation of Fordring's death.

Argent Dawn soldiers intervene, attacking in mass agaisnt the Lich King. Cybrind chuckles as each are cast aside like puppets. "Fools."

The Tauren snorts, "Did you not hear what he said?"

Cybrind looks at the Tauren, "Of course."

"He sent you here to die and that doesn't bother you?" The Tauren is clearly confused.

Cybrind stands and stares at him. His head cocks to the side and he smirks. "No. This life is not my own, it is his to do with as he pleases."

The Tauren is stunned, "Including destroying it?"

Cybrind simply nods, "Yes."

The Lich King stumbles backwards. Cybrind watches in horror as he fades. "When next we meet it won't be on holy ground, Paladin."

"Master…" Cybrind winces as he's cut off from him, from his power. He closes his eyes unwilling to see what he has become. Abandoned, cast aside and forgotten.

The Tauren sets his large hand on Cybrind's shoulder. "You have a mind, why not use it? Think about what it is you are saying."

"What does it matter, Tauren? I am already dead." Cybrind can't bring himself to look away from the spot where his master vanished.

The Tauren shakes his head sadly. "Perhaps you are, but you are given something many others have been denied. A second chance. Now is your chance to make amends, heal our world before it's too late."

"You speak like a Druid." Cybrind sighs before turning his attention back to him. "What is your name, Tauren?"

"I am Rimblat Earthshatter of the Earthen Ring." Rimblat nods his head as he introduces himself. "And you, death knight?"

Cybrind frowns, his sudden loss of self is reflected in his eyes. "I am nothing."


	10. Chapter 10

**Stroll through Stormwind**

He lands before the gate. The guards are understandably tense watching him, a lone death knight, walking a bone gryphon through the Valley of Heroes. His runic sword strapped to his back, grim plate armor gleams in the sunshine, runic eyes squinting in the blinding brightness, striding with purpose to the Stormwind city guard astride his steed.

"I am General Marcus Jonathan, High Commander of Stormwind Defense. State your business or be run through, impudent death knight." The General speaks through gritted teeth; each city guard surrounding Cybrind have their hand on the hilt of their sword. Cybrind looks up at him and slowly pulls a scroll from his belt to present to him. The General takes the scroll and stares wordlessly at the official seal. When he finally relents, his words drip with disdain. "And I am to simply allow you access to my King because you have a note?"

The seal is familiar to him, it taunts him; he grits his teeth and hands it back to the death knight. Cybrind tucks the scroll back into his belt and waits silently. Their eyes are in constant struggle with each other, a silent battle of wills. The General growls knowing what he must do. Every fiber of his being is warring within him, every instinct crying out warnings yet to ignore that seal…  
><strong><br>**At long last, the General points to four guards. "Escort him to the Keep." He peers at the death knight. "You will not enter my city armed, scourge."

Cybrind nods. He turns to the bone gryphon and runs his hand gently down its beak. "Go." Cybrind's deep reverberating voice causes a city guard to stumble back in shock, earning a glare from the General.

Pulling his sword from his back, he grips it effortlessly in his hand before reluctantly holding it out to the General. The General nods to one of his men who will escort Cybrind to the keep. A city guard steps forward and takes the sword, his eyes widen momentarily at the aura of dark runic power surrounding it.

With a curt nod, Cybrind waits to be escorted through the city. The four city guards look at him expectantly. Cybrind quirks an amused eyebrow at all of them. "I do not know where your Keep is or where your King sits, so unless you intend to stand all day in the sun staring at me, I suggest one of you lead the way."

The four city guards look at each other, faces contorting in an attempt to communicate without words. The General needs this abomination away from the gates, he quickly barks out the order. "Jaxon lead the way."

Jaxon's head snaps up at the command. "Yes, sir!" He salutes sharply and begins walking stiffly, amusing Cybrind further.  
><strong><br>**They round a corner leading into the Trade District where Cybrind's amusement comes to an abrupt halt. He walks silently through the streets of Stormwind, from the gates at the Trade District to the long winding canal works, skirting Old Towne to the doors of Stormwind Keep. Along the way the citizens are shocked and dismayed by the sight of him. Some cry out in fear, others cry out in anger, some simply cry.

A messenger had been sent ahead to the Keep. The King awaits their arrival. The city is abuzz with questions. His head held high, his back straight, all seven foot four of the death knight is stoic. The citizens are confused and weary of his presence. He is guarded but not heading towards the prison. He is not chained yet unarmed. Whispers follow as well as citizens. Children laugh and run around them until a guard puts a stop to their antics. Still he remains silent, through their laughter; the fear in their eyes is apparent.

At the steps of Stormwind Keep the city guards hold back the citizens that gather. At this point the royal guards take over. Cybrind stands at the entrance, allowing his eyes to adjust to the sudden change before continuing forward. "Do not keep the King waiting."

He hears the guard's words and reacts yet keeps silent. His face is set and hard, showing no emotion. Cybrind walks swiftly with purpose. His eyes never leave his goal. The only sound is the rhythmic clank of plate boots striking the stone floor as he moves. A royal guard steps forward to challenge him, calling him petty names, bracing himself to face him down. Gritting his teeth, Cybrind's hands ball in to fists as he sneers at the guard, giving him a low guttural growl. Cybrind's eyes narrow watching the man back away a few steps before he completes his approach to the king.

As Cybrind stops at the base of the steps to the throne, King Wrynn glares at him coldly. "You have mere moments to live."

His lip twitches with a hint of a grin, toying with him. Hesitating for only a moment, Cybrind kneels before King Wrynn as is protocol, refusing to bow his head in deference. "I was tasked to bring this message." His deep reverberating voice carries down the great hall. Hushed voices can be heard from the citizens behind him, held at the entrance.

From within his belt he pulls the same sealed scroll. He holds it out on an open palm. Someone takes the scroll; he doesn't know who as he watches the king steadily, their eyes clashing as each weighs the other's worth. King Wyrnn's gaze does not falter until the name of the author is read to him. "M'Lord, it is a letter from Lord Fordring on behalf of Highlord Darion Mograine."

"Naturally it is, why else would I allow a death knight before me?" King Wrynn's annoyed voice booms, bouncing from the rafters. He holds his hand out for the scroll impatiently, the man immediately relinquishes it and the king begins reading in earnest. "Knights of the Ebon Blade…"

King Wrynn affixes his cold, calculating gaze upon Cybrind. "Were it not for this letter from Tirion, you would be a stain upon my floor. Only an endorsement from one of the greatest paladins to ever live could have ensured your survival."

Cybrind's lip twitches again, highly amused by the idea of death, his death, at the hands of this man, this king, "Your declaration means nothing to a death knight. Death knights do not fear death. We embrace it."  
><strong><br>**This time it is King Wrynn's lip that twitches, whether in amusement or disgust, Cybrind is unsure. He remains impartial, watching intently and silently. "What is your name, death knight?"

"Name?" The death knight's gaze flicks momentarily to the king's right at the movement beside the throne.

"Yes, your name." King Wyrnn glances briefly at Prince Anduin beside him before returning his gaze to Cybrind.

Cybrind openly stares at the young prince. "We have little use for names."

King Wrynn is growing impatient. "Surely you had a name at one time? You weren't always a death knight."

"I was once known as…" His eye twitches once as he ponders his response, giving the name that was told to him. "Cybrind."

King Wyrnn nods at the death knight before him, "Welcome back to the Alliance, Cybrind. Inform Highlord Mograine that we… we will work together against the Scourge. Against the Lich King." Wyrnn looks quite conflicted with this choice as he dismisses the death knight. Cybrind stands before the king, nodding once in acknowledgement. He makes eye contact with the prince and quirks an eyebrow when the boy shows no fear, only curiosity. Cybrind gives the prince a nod prior to turning on his heel to depart the keep.

King Wyrnn's voice is raised for all within hearing to be witness. "People of Stormwind! Citizens of the Alliance! Your king speaks! Today marks the first of many defeats for the Scourge! Death knights, once in service of the Lich King, have broken free of his grasp and formed a new alliance against his tyranny! You will welcome these former heroes of the Alliance and treat them with the respect that you would give any ally of Stormwind! Glory to the Alliance!"  
><strong><br>**Cybrind has already tuned out the others. He has been released and is on his way back to the plague-filled lands where he belongs. This keep is foreign to him with its grand entrances, brightly lit hallways and colorful tapestries. Not to mention how warm it is in Stormwind.

Upon reaching the exit he stops. The city guard reluctantly hands him back his hefty sword. Cybrind takes it in his right hand, swinging it with ease to set it within its holster where it belongs across his back. He nods in understanding to the city guard, the weapon not the person wielding it is something to be awed.

He steps outside, past the gathered citizens who part a way for him and allows his eyes to adjust to the bright sunshine that surrounds him. Sounds and fragrances of the city assault his senses.

"Cybrind?" Cybrind turns his runic blue eyes to the man addressing him. The Kal'dorei is a head shorter than him, with long green hair, blue skin and the telltale golden eyes of a druid. "Elune! It is you."

Cybrind stares as he towers over him. An awkward silence lingers between the two men. The druid sighs sadly, his shoulders droop, deflated. "You have no idea who I am."

Cybrind doesn't respond. He simply stares impatiently. "I'm your brother. Still nothing?" He steps forward, looking him in the eyes willing him to remember. "Cy it's me, Cayllar."  
><strong><br>**Cybrind simply stands staring at the man who calls himself his brother, Cayllar. The words don't awaken any feelings within him. He doesn't expect them to. "Who I was is no longer who I am. While I am Cybrind, I am no longer anyone's brother." His curt words, his reverberating voice cuts him. Cybrind sees the pain in the man's eyes even though Cayllar's expression remains unchanged. Cybrind admires his show of strength. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Cayllar stares at the death knight before him. "You were once a druid, a healer by choice." He shrugs his shoulder and smirks. "You hated fighting… how ironic that you've been turned into a killing machine."

Cybrind's back stiffens. "Yes. Death knights are heartless killers, murderous scourge and mindless drones sent to slaughter innocent, helpless women and children. Tell me, did I leave anything out?"

Cayllar winces visibly. Closing his eyes briefly he takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry. You're free of the Lich King, but it isn't as if we've had more than a few minutes to comprehend that news before you came out. I can't imagine what you're going through, dead, reanimated, being controlled to being free…" He lets his words go unspoken. "I'm just glad you're alive."

Cybrind stares at the man baffled. His head tilts ever so slightly and his eyebrow rises despite himself. He's always been one to hide any emotion for as long as he can remember and really, how long has that been? Cybrind has no concept of timeline when it comes to his life, death and reanimation. "Why?"

"Well, you're my brother, so of course I'm glad you're alive." Cayllar chuckles and shakes his head. "I only have one older brother, and while you used to beat me up when we were young and gave me a hard time about things and I made your life as difficult as I could… but that's what brothers do."

"Yet I am not alive. I am reanimated. I am a death knight." Cybrind stares at the man with a twinge of amusement and something more that is on the edge of his mind refusing to be analyzed. "I suggest you forget that you've seen me. Cybrind as you knew him is dead."

Cybrind nods curtly and turns on his heel to an out of the way corner. Standing there concentrating, he begins chanting. Smoke, thick and black rises from the stone. From the ground erupts a summoned portal, a death gate, frightening any citizen happening by.

Cayllar reaches out to him, "Wait! Where are you living? How can I contact you?"

Cybrind pauses. He turns to the man unsure of a response. Contact? Why? For what purpose? "I stay in Acherus." At the blank look, Cybrind tries again. "The Ebon Hold, high above what is now called the Eastern Plaguelands. We have no need for post. If one needs to communicate they simply… do." The clock tower begins ringing the current hour. His eyes tense. With a nod Cybrind steps through the portal.

Cayllar calls out. "Cy!"

Any other words he may have spoken are cut off as the gate abruptly closes behind Cybrind. Without another thought to the man he left standing in Stormwind, Cybrind moves forward through the portal to Ebon Hold. "You're late."

He looks down at the woman standing before him. Her runic blue eyes glaring up at him, her arms crossed before her chest as she peers at him. Her reverberating high pitched squeak of a voice takes on an amused tone. "Come on, Darion doesn't like to be kept waiting."

His breath is visible before him. Cybrind steps over the Gnome knowing how much it irritates the woman. Her growl behind him confirms her annoyance, causing him to grin. "Always a pleasure to see you, Toots."


End file.
